At some point driving home from work I lost a piece of myself.
I’m not sure if it happened when I stopped for gas or
if it was when I passed the dancing man who asked for gold.
It may have been at the intersection of Collins and Abram Road,
when the rainbow stepped out of my van,
walked across the street, and stood on the corner
with the intent of being sold to the darkest cloud
who could offer the most rain.
I didn’t stay to see who stopped-
the me that remained wanted nothing more than
to beat the train and be naked at home with hot tea,
entertained to sleep by the colloquy
between a boisterous AC, a soft-spoken sink, and
a neighbor’s TV joining in through the wall.
Now, it’s nearly midnight, and the misanthrope inside
has successfully missed six calls and still not replied
to the guy who wants more than exists to be given