ordering ice at a local deli
tests the limits of a clerk's imagination
and i let him boil in the glare of my facial tension
in order that he may conjure up a willful denial of a customer's wishes

and so i go on testing the style in which people approach people
jotting the story's moral down on partially sticky yellow paper
that i leave on the sticky table (that houses a man's regrets) for later
to call my mom and chat about an injury that i or she may be suffering

let's not pretend i know anything about suffering
it'll be easier then to argue details of the collapsing financial system
and of the exercises that help in the recovery from tendinitis while we pop tylenol pm
and hold each others hands, and wait for the world to outgrow its adolescent idiosyncrasies