This part of town isn’t so bad. Lies I tell myself at night. Lies that live Inside pockets. Lies that grip keys And keychains between knuckles where no Man can see. Lies that I reason through: Myrtle Beach shell Montreal robot Not practical. Korean drum Hawaiian flowers Too delicate. Golden wishbone Eiffel Tower Best bet. Although I do worry about the Golden wishbone slipping from between My knuckles or the Tower missing Its mark. All completely real chances, Real possibilities half past nine. And I do worry that I won’t be Able to find the Tower amongst The others in my brimming pocket: Left of the drum, below the robot, Two from the shell, beside my flowers. Keychains weaponized. But only for Tonight. Ten feet until locked car doors.