Meanwhile, a friend’s wife has an affair in Connecticut
with a manager at Ikea who sells her
she’s beautiful in beige as she holds
his face like a mirror in the alcove
of home furnishings.
Between here & there
there’s a row of plow heads,
(if you want to see) completely
detached, on the side of the highway
with heaps of stone & salt.
His vision of marriage before his wife
drove up the coast? Their daughters
holding hands to spin across the yard
like dandelion spores.
There are forms
of breathing, forms for getting up each day.
There are commercials elevating every detail.
He sleeps against the window
now (his phone is in the well.)
When are you coming home?
the message asks. The weather stumbles
up to the glass & watches him like a late-night rerun.
What is the part that ages?
The part that moves on?
What are we now but beggars
Hiroyuki Ishii is an artist/illustrator who lives in Tokyo. He keeps updating his work on Instagram.
Bill Neumire‘s first book, Estrus, was a semi-finalist for the 42 Miles Press Award. He teaches in Central New York and serves as an assistant editor for Verdad. You can contact him here