when the city is holding its breath as much as you are exhaling and—
Mayo, mustard, ketchup, and hamburger
patty, brick, concrete, and awning
Lettuce for the fancy young building,
iceberg, because no nutrition.
I could say lines and angles,
about this corner.
I could say exposed brick,
dropped silk screen, private affairs tattooed
I could say the city is tired, haggard
from recent stretching.
But instead I’m just left with this:
the block is a burger.