95°F / 96% Humidity
by Brad Davis
This is not the room he sits in
with its ancient couch, fireplace,
wicker chairs, and two original
Moser prints. This is not the school
that owns the road the cottage
sits on or the last green valley.
This is not southern New England
or North America or some blue
planet called Earth. This is not August,
nor the soul of wit, not even
a window into his fractal psyche
sitting shivah near the center of what
this is not and who was laid off
last week. But what is that to you?


