I
A vial, a syringe, a long thin flow
of hope is rising. Desperate to know
fatigue and chemofog will dissipate.
The dead have called, but vaguely wait.
II
KENTS. Gum. The Globe. No milk has sold for days.
He asks the clerk how much the jackpot pays.
Frayed wallet; photo of a woman buried
long ago nearby. They never married.
III
Two smiles. One wink. The usual appears
although she hasn’t stopped by here for years.
She cracks a joke about her latest breakup.
Reflection. Mother’s grimace through the makeup.