bodega at night

As Long As You Make It to Tomorrow, You’re Doing Something Right

The bodega
across the
street has
not yet
closed up

I consider
ordering, decide
it’s kind but 
ultimately unwise

This pandemic is
an introvert’s secret fantasy
I don’t have to talk to anyone
but myself and G-d

This might be
my deepest problem
I don’t know 
where to begin

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8:30, he rolls
grate to pavement
I’m doing laundry,
the inevitable consumption
of being alive

We both say goodnight
to the night
and without moving
run headlong
into tomorrow

Photo by Jim Ronan