aka. some people
A poem.
i’m sure
we don’t make it easy for God
or whichever/whatever/whoever you’re of:
when one neighbour asks us to look after their dog,
then the other leaves a note on our car
that we’re in his road-level permitless parking stall
in the middle of a weekday without a soul on the street at all;
when the same partner with whom
you thought you were meant to be –
the one you just talked to about starting a family –
discards wet sample garbage on the shelf at the grocery;
theory of a daskeman 