—a subway strike. Everyone wheeling to the City, and damn early: work, matinees, Christmas blooming. Ken arrived 4 a.m. in his old Elantra, acquired from Korean Rex: bad brakes, bald tires, balky wipers, freezing rain and perched on the edge of despair and divorce. I’d die at his—Hands on the wheel! Asshole—not etherized upon a table. Close, he hit the brakes, slowed to fifteen. I stumbled into a puddle, rediscovering living’s unbearable when your feet’re wet. Happy now for a dry gown, ass exposed; happy for a warm, welcome blanket; happy for dry paper booties. Happy even here.
Alan Walowitz is a Contributing Editor at Verse-Virtual and teaches at Manhattanville College. His chapbook, Exactly Like Love, is in its second printing.