Smiling For No Reason

I think about it often —
what would happen.
How it might work.

I dream up scenarios,
and when I am alone at work,
alone in my office.

When I am on the bus.
When I am buying baguettes and lox.
When I open the jar of capers.

I imagine how it will work.
I wonder where I will be.


I hope that when I walk down the street,
it will happen in a hail of poppies,
blossoming over the white of my shirt,

and I will go down in slow motion,
onto my knees,

and then collapsing onto my side,
blood running from my lips,

my hands grasping
for something I cannot reach.

I imagine it,
over and over and over again.

That’s what I’m thinking about,
when I tell you ‘Nothing’
when you ask why I’m smiling.





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