Today the woman
sitting near the cafe
window did a bouncy
thing with her eyebrows
and continued to look
at her plum-colored
notebook while her
invisible friend
sat cross-table
waiting for his
garden salad to arrive.
I can't afford to eat
there anymore,
but remember a few
times one friend
or another bought
me lunch. Nowadays
I brew tea at home
and walk as the snow
melts, carrying ripped
envelopes of nothing
in my coat pocket
and heading north
to where the car is parked
with deer hair lodged in its grille.