if it makes you feel any better

I see you everywhere,

in the eye of the sad

dancer in the park,

the panic of every lost

tourist, righteous

scream of a child

hearing no,

all you, hating

me. I understand

that a poem

is not an apology, but

as you mentioned,

I’m a coward. And I’m sorry

to report that karma

has so far skipped me,

like when that cop

followed me for ten blocks

but then only asked

if I was okay. Or

when I ambled

through Whole Foods

like a smug ghost,

eating an entire box of cookies,

loading vegetables into a cart

I knew I’d abandon.

I just want you to know

that though the universe

appears to have forgiven me,

or more likely never gave a shit

to begin with, I am doing

my own form of penance,

a walk the length of Manhattan,

meeting myself

in every shop window reflection,

letting the blisters

form and break

inside these shoes

I should never have worn

in the first place.

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