gimme that potato salad
with the mustard sauce and the bacon
those fried mushrooms with the smell rising
mind my big nose
pressed flatly against foggy glass
approve my flirtatious hands
as they make fake feetprints
for amusement, in lieu of art, on grey glass
in threenight, i will be at this same tall door
and, when i draw my nails down its frozen frame,
white cakes of frost will bunch up,
and i can eat them and smile
just like a kid
Aremyfeetofftheground 