Holding it up,
I watch a cloud through my wine glass.
It yellows.
“You understand why I’m leaving you, right?”
A man walks by
and picks up a woman’s patent leather bag
while she laughs with friends.
“I don’t need to.”
A table scratch looks like the letter ‘P’.
I cover
it with a salt shaker.
“Can you at least try and listen to me?”
The street traffic sounds more charming
from high up.
Here, a fire truck passes, wailing.
“Too late for that.”

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