Cityscapes

tree try not to look at each other. I feel like it is very quiet in the restaurant. “May I have garland of popcorn, please?”

In the bike racks, next to me, I talk to tree, pick a popcorn, and eat. After a while, I depart, leave tree. I feel like I will pass bike rack and empty parking lot many times before I see my father again. I run in large circle. I run in larger circle, make strong rhythm. I beat up my hair. I whoop. I yell. I also jump, raise my arms to mark time. I stand still, observe how distinctive my Christmas tree emerges under these conditions. Then I watch my Christmas tree many times as I pass, wonder about my empty lot, and if. I feel like there’s no telling where home is now. I feel like if I had a cell phone I’d call my father, ask him why he set Gary’s lawn on fire the night of the blackout? “Dad? Why’d you only ever eat Chicken McNuggets and why only from the McDonald’s where Jilly worked?” I look at my Christmas tree. I realize that some things will always remain a mystery.

My paper suit flaps in wind.

I listen to my suit, get down on my knees, clasp my hands behind my neck, give myself a full nelson, hit the blacktop with my head many times. My Christmas tree falls on me. I take the sound of my Christmas tree wrapping itself around

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