Park 2

a man walking his dog

looks at me

suspiciously

the time of his passage

he is a young man, clearly preposterous wrinkles in his brow

when I say, “Hi,”

he passes with no acknowledgement

this place

we rub together on the subway

cricket’s music of sweat and jackets

people on the street are more lonely than where I’m from

we greet each other

with no bubbles to pop

there is no chance meeting in cars

we stay further apart in a room

but this is not your private space

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