What We Do To Be Clean
Oct 4, 2021
He spent
endless moments
wiping down
the truck bumper
this morning.
Methodical, he worked
the cloth in circles
against the plastic,
always clockwise,
never counter.
He breathed
in, coughed
the way he’d been
all week.
All
weak.
Still his hand
moved, cleaning the dirt
away. The crows sat on wires
above him. The squirrels hid
high in the maple.
The world smelled of pot.
I tried not to watch. The coffee
heavy in my belly. The pain deep
in my own chest. We have to do
what we can to appear clean.
