by Mike Alberti
You were looking out the kitchen
window, smoking a cigarette and
tapping the ashes into the sink.
You wore your old pink ratty
robe, your feet were bare, your
hair undone. Out the window was
the driveway, the lawn, the street,
the maple tree I sometimes
climbed: nothing interesting or
unusual. Though, of course,
beyond all that, the big blank
world was crouched and
humming. I watched you for a
long time. Your gaze was steady.
It’s early morning.
Look at me.