VISIT

 

So I am minding my own business when

Sadness -- the genuine thing, aching and alive --

Comes into my office, sits down (who invited her to?

But sadness is her own master and does as she pleases)

Crosses her legs and lights a cigarette as if

This is 1952 and lighting cigarettes was a thing

Almost everyone did because why not? She carefully

Flicks the ash into a melamine ashtray from Woolworth's;

30 cents or four for a dollar. It's mottled green

And I know its sisters were red, black and orange.

So you're a detective, she says and I think no

I am nothing like that but I'll play along

Until the story's over.  Twenty five dollars a day

And expenses, I say. If I take your case.

Now spill; what brings an abstract entity like you

Out on a night like this?