I am becoming invisible.
Cars speed past remorseless.
Passersby pass by
eyes wide open.
The cashier's pierced smile
dissolves into a Big Mac
instead of the chicken nuggets
I thought I'd ordered.
The express line bogs down
my Häagen-Dazs softens.
There is no next for me
no blue light special
no buy-one-get-one.
The man at the bus stop
knows this out of habit
hiding an avalanche of emptiness
in his wooden leg.
From the window seat
I listen to facades
recite the alphabet
mesmerized by their fullness.
A tom waits for a cab,
his heroic ways a subterfuge.
The revolving door has seen to that
and to this moment
as it bumbles along
inconspicuously
laden with partygoers
and quizzical hounds.
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Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison
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