i’ve been mistyping words / and misreading them too

stray becoming spray / neither failing eyesight

nor Freudian slippage / can account for these brain farts

my hands tremble / as i feed myself

boiled carrots / dark roast in a for-here cup

the woman before me / with arms half the age of her

hands, finishes first the top of her cinnamon chip muffin, which i also had / except i ate it like the moon fed on its full, gibbous, half, collapsing self

the man behind me / brushes my hair across my shoulders

with his unfeeling coat when he leaves / at least one of us remembered

the receive this rainy day

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