.
The sky outside is flat gray
as I read on a silver phone
in a neutral tone
subway car. Eyes
are not meant to read text
on small, hand-held devices.
Sometimes I miss lines
as my gaze skips along,
and the facts of
my dear friends' lives
fall between the gaps
and melt away
into moldy pools of
sewage, reflecting
an imperfect reader.
The Uggs of the woman beside me
are so black and sparkly.
Just take out the adverbs
and you've got Hemingway!
Uh-oh, just missed my stop
writing this poetry
.
.
.
.
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