“Timothée Chalamet and Lily-Rose Depp Make Out, Eat Fried Chicken”
They are busy galocher-ing on 2nd Avenue
I am on the sidewalk looking at the sky
They are stopping to wipe their mouths
it is greasy and it is raining
When they see me, between bites of fried chicken,
they think I am lonely and praying
They are licking the bones clean saying: no one is lonely
saying: even prayer is first person plural
Saying: you’re not dead yet, stop looking at the sky
make out, eat fried chicken
Home Game
As I wait to become just
the right shipwreck / discoverable body out of context
I watch my kindergarten boyfriend
play for the New York Rangers
My mother says the air feels
like snow
On TV they sew his
lip back together around his
teeth so he can finish
the game
His mother is there the cameras keep
cutting to her face if
you ask our mothers how deep
the water in Boston Harbor
is they will measure
in multiples of us
Blood on ice pools and freezes darkens
to blackberry slush
