You would call, quoting
the let us go, then, you and I—with less
than ten, but eyes for watching.
Two girls on a bench
in a space without weather,
we made up stories about others
and all the love having gone.
And wasn’t it sad—how the night
stretched out before them?
Later we’d walk in the wrong
direction, pet the cashmere and long
for the pair, order smoothies
and drink them down, down.
He says there’s a market
for signage, now that it’s all
being auctioned off, and this
one hall echoes, and in the window—
mannequins posed in what seems
like tangible despair.