staring

i see outside
through translucent marroon curtains
and vinyl replacement windows.

as if it's real
and the children playing in the street
exist

with the football
bouncing down the street
drunk and angry,
spinning and flopping around
away from those sober litlte faces

i know better though

the warm air in here
on the plain off-white
and floral print chair
where you've left me
alone

with

the pounding ache somewhere
between my liver and lungs
that's real.

Thank you for that.