NORA ALMEIDA


                                     



OUT OF TOWN




I'm barely even back to anywhere
when my service rejoins
the network and I get
a sense of dread, 1227 emails
all of a sudden, the highway exit,
I am missing it. I'm so glad.
The city without me is the sound
of glass in the turn lane, when you
ride your bike over it seems
like any little nail
could ruin the best balloon.
I waited at every stoplight. I saw
a guy with an unreadable cardboard
manifestation. I remember this
tollbridge. Have you ever loved
a billboard like it was home?
I'm still missing the day-to-day reels
from the sip-n'-dip drive through.
Or whatever you call it, coffee window.
The teenage girl, aging behind every
building, a dumpster, a parking lot,
the stadia, your obvious need. To feel
ok in this situation, I recommend
ambient sounds and deep tranquilizers
but I am not a doctor, I say,
just a relatively pointless academic
looking at the artery of traffic,
safely, living in Jersey
incognito, amongst housewives.







TYPO 33