$$$

 

I can’t be any more real than I just was. 

I had just taken a big drink when an ambulance went by 

in the too-wet snow. The order of things 

isn’t vulgar—the ongoing winter, its unquotable weather, 

wants us to hold steady, stop. 

Approximately an inch of snow lay on the neighbor’s trampoline. 

It draws tight like a conga. 

Hundreds of birds interpret this. 

An interrogative sentence wells up inside me. I don’t know how 

small my problems are. 

I only profit when there is nothing 

to turn into for money