Emma

She leans to close
The door with postcard prints
Of Monet and Van Gogh
On both sides.
Her breath is peppermint
And caramel latte.
Her father doesn't
Remember
1984.

The unsteady stack of volumes
Guarding her bed
Includes Reid's Come and Get It,
Normal People,
Bryson's History of Everything.
The students in the street below
Are chanting for some team or other,
A soft and rhythmic roar
Beneath the speaker playing Clairo
And The Weeknd.
She's pretending all my jokes
Are funny,
Coughing on her red wine
Constantly threatening to slosh
Onto the imitation middle eastern rug.
She laughs some more and keeps
Her hand at rest
On top my thigh.

And yet,
Down deep
I know...

- 10/7/25

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