Same ol’ Song and Dance by Randy William Santiago
For a while, people looked like shadows, eventually taking form and scraping their heavy feet to the tune of North Avenue's traffic.
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I no longer harangue every desk nurse at every hospital for a taxonomic breakdown of her bills. I don’t ask for the numbers of the Benadryl, the water cups, the abdominal touches done with gloved hands. I am the most American I’ve ever been—she costs what she costs and I eat it.
For a while, people looked like shadows, eventually taking form and scraping their heavy feet to the tune of North Avenue's traffic.
I once knew a man who was inside out, though he wore his hat in the usual way.
Disappearing sounded good. My nonagenarian mother was getting to me.
He can’t remember what the newscaster said when the house hit the sea.
I’m just not made for this. What do I know about looking after things?