the old men and sticky floors.
There are white aprons getting
our refills on coffee and we
thank them not looking in
their eyes. This isn't the Ukraine
this is the flat country. Women
stand on intersection sidewalks
with signs that say words
like help, food, or single.
This isn't Chicago—we are
incompatible states pressed
together in a large foil can.
We are proud of black leather
jackets and sneakers with lyrics
on the soles. We agree to disagree
on sanitary public restrooms. Honestly,
we all want a gracious waitress, but
we aren't always that lucky. I
mean to say we aren't all that special.
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