Overs, Pt II

New seasons, new voices in your phone, scrub out the old by potting a new plant on top of it, and hope you won't notice the crooked seam at the edge. Build a smile and hope it holds up to scrutiny.  We put our air conditioning behemoths in the window last night and prayed they'd levitate. It's the same thing every year.

She doesn't ask about you. I don't know if they've already forgotten, perhaps they never learned to remember. I'm not sure it matters -- I remember enough for a hundred seasons. It sits in my gut and whittles my bones. A year ago we slow danced in the street but even the streets have moved on. They look so different even when they carry the same names and in Greenpoint they're building a high rise.  We sat in the sandy bar and let the bartender pour us tiki drink overspill until it cooled down outside.

The plants in my window are thriving. They're looking for something to hold on to.

I'm already packing my bags.