A Podologist Session
I wanted to make a tractor out of my hand's shadow
and harvest the freckles on her face.
"The winter is supposed to be brutal."
That's what I would tell her
as my tractor plodded along her cheeks.
The trip-hop symphony was axed.
This is all I can think about,
even as I watch you cry onto
your burrito supreme. Saying
"The lettuce has enough moisture"
would be an inappropriate comment.