Читать книгу Phases - Mischa Willett - Страница 11

I thought about those green

beans and onions all day

after having rejected them

for more orange chicken

on my weekend trip to the mall.

The regret eats me indelicately.

How differently. . .

Now I’ll blow around

like street trees: pretty, but

roots not deep enough to reach

the good water.

I rerun the movie

of you driving through

the night alone, and all

night long.