She couldn’t make it esthetically possible since
she didn’t know that that was the question.
sits beside the front door, glass shards from the stucco
rubbing the grooves of her corduroy overalls.
Old Ford pulls up outside, his Friday night come down saunter up the
of noodles and a six-pack in a plastic bag swishing and tinkering.
What is to be abstracted
His paycheque? Her day-care fees?
The price of her first cavity? He
wishes he could leave her with
the neighbor, but what would happen to her English?
Next to the neighbors, but not of them.
We aren’t foreigners; she’s a second-generation for crissakes.
just a lot of natives with more dough.
If we moved any further east, we’d be in China.
If we can’t abstract the pieces of ourselves out of this,
let’s just get rid of the pieces altogether.