Thankfully, people begin giving me envelopes.
            Red for my hospital bills, yellow for my bookmarks.
            We ate at Tangie’s for breakfast and Peter ordered huevos rancheros. 
            I stuck my fork in his mess and it made him
tremble.
            Out the window a woman played her saxophone the way one might
shuffle cards.
            Her C# with its torn corner.
            As we left, the waiter slipped me his licked plate and winked.
            I put it deep inside my coat, next to 
the rest.
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