like tires at a checkpoint,
alone I choke,
alone I pollute the air.
Nightmares are still budding,
caught in nets,
and I can’t stop my urge
to empty my bladder.
Annually you die,
each year in a different manner.
And this year I’m thinking
of your enormous gut:
it was exhausting to tie
your brown shoes.
And your panting heart,
I heard it today in a radio song.
