Jen Levitt

Each morning I checked the news                        
on gossip sites. I fried an egg,
trashed the pinkish shells.
As the kitchen filled with light
I lunged into it & waited.
At the gym a new machine turned
off when I stepped on, on the street
the same dark-haired woman,
wanting. Some days I gave a dollar,
some days I bowed my head
& walked home to watch SVU.
Or I got a pedicure & tensed up
when my feet were lotioned.
Water idled in a basin, then went.
I was made more valuable, like stocks.
Luckily I wasn't beautiful,
or I'd have had too many lovers
to choose from. There wouldn't have been
time to sit in my room as the snowplow
emptied, thinking about milk.