streamers!

The other day, I set my keys in the fridge and left the milk on the counter, came back three minutes later holding a spoon like it could explain me. I had my shirt on inside out, still went to the corner store anyway, thumb on the card reader, waiting for the little red choke light. The cashier had a vape taped to her apron and a busted nail painted chrome, said “you good?” while scanning a can of beans twice, like she didn’t trust the barcode. I said “yeah” too quick, too bright, like a smoke alarm testing itself in the ceiling of my mouth. I kept one ear on the freezer fan, one eye on the door chime, orange juice sweating through the paper bag, receipt curling up hot. A man in a Colts jersey was arguing with the lotto machine, I laughed at a joke nobody made and almost bought cough drops for no reason, then stood there pretending to read the gum wall like it had instructions. If I’m off, keep it small. Keep it in the basket. Keep it in the code red on the self-checkout. Not the whole store going quiet, not the freezer doors buzzing like they know my name. I’ve been folding myself into shapes that fit under fluorescent lights, tucking the loose screw under my tongue, smiling with my jaw half-wired. Still, every room hits that same snag by the sink. Still, when you said my name the other day, I stalled at the hinges, holding a bag of limes, waiting for whatever comes after the pause, that little dead spot where my next move should’ve been. my next move should’ve been. my next move should’ve been taking care of all my assignments, percussive refinement