Slow Yes

Slow Yes

Let the objects and locations
around you grow stranger.

Let the road smack your foot
in the jaw when the cobblestone

is higher than you expected.
May the branches corkscrew

and twist as they reach away
from the trees that own them.

May you, a pedestrian, gesture
to cars to allow them to turn.

Doesn’t the insurance company
look bewitching in her bricks.

Doesn’t the nude light bulb
in the third floor of the vacant

building gleam with good health.
Keep trying tomato juice and olives

and whiskey (not together) in case
your taste buds reupholster themselves.

Keep hold of the year you were
born so you always know your age.