graft

i am a tree hugger
(arms wrapped
bark in my fingernails,
smiling into the veins of sunfed leaves)

a cafe table by the south window where she sits
crying into her telephone
"frustration" and tears I can hear
as they crash like niagara
fingers sandpaper rasp them away into a sleeve

fire engines bursting forth their alarums
(7:04
before my alarm,
might as well)

a couple, meat and potatoes*
hovering near the checkout lane with their baskets
heads together and muttering gently
"more than twenty" and so were they, but not by much
temples brushing minds, eyes with the look

honey in his crystalline coffee
(affectation cum affection
hides it from clients,
whom he swindles)