No Ordinary Moments

When people cry in corners

and worms populate my drive to school,

the odor is right;

the solution is highly plausible,

and I begin to rub it all over

the people I meet.

During lunch the chef talked about religion

and the man that sat across

from me lost his wife a week ago.

He looked like a skyscraper

with shrimp tails waving

in the heat of the façade.

I felt a book under my bed begin

to rise from the onion volcano.

There were answers in the vapor

and remedial laughter.

We just stared at each other

through the fire.