All Day I Look at Things

On Thursday at X o’clock, the nice doctor will give her the shot and she’ll go. I plan to be there with her children, the new elders. All day I walk around in thirty-degree heat, my toe rubbing the inside of my leather shoe, reddening. Soon it will bleed. If I were dying Thursday, this might be the last smoke bush I see. Its red hair on fire. And buying ginger ale at the corner store, I stare at the purple $10 bill a long time, Viola Desmond’s face. Maybe the last purple $10 bill. My last tea at Annapurna. I don’t tell the friendly server I won’t be back. Somewhere, the waves of the sea are biblical. Somewhere a ship is capsizing. Somewhere there is a hurricane, a fire, a herd of elephants, a boy on a pink tricycle, a garden with a long table set for dinner with tea lights. Bye, world. Bye.