i know you want to call it Rhodesia, but you no longer can. it's Zimbabwe, regardless of your rhyme's need for that "sia" sound.
& you ride, headphones at their loudest, this is the busiest street in your city. let them do it. what you can't. if they don't, you will likely recover in a few days and remember what you forgot.
those plates your offspring broke, well they know why you are crying.
when you bought those plates you could not afford the food to fill.
coins counted meticulously, with a knowledge of some future written in breaths on the bus stop window.
you passed that co-worker each day at his bus stop on your way to work. without forethought, today was the day to open the door and chat.
a love that merely could. and maybe did. when we were not looking directly at it.
