May 2013 - Comments Off

Between Jobs

Kimberly Kirchner '13

What filters through
the overpass falls
in broken angles

over the bedspread
while you sip coffee
from a shot glass

and I count wrinkles
in your shirt. An

rips the sky and
buzzes through
my chest on the

way to Buffalo, and
I laugh. You look up
from last Sunday's

paper for the first
time since it left
the presses.

'You know, I think
I was always meant
to be a steering wheel',

I say, and mean it. But
this is not the answer
to forty-six across,

so you toss me half
a bagel and we
chew our thoughts
in silence.

Published by: in Poetry, Volume 69, Volume 69: Issue 2

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