Page 128 of Wayfarers

always the victimized. It got to be too much,

the endless parade of plaintiffs

weeping their way up

to the witness box, and eventually

I ditched them for the psychology forums

instead. Barely better, but

yeah, better. Did you know that not everybody

can picture things in their minds? Think apple:

some of us see it in glorious 4D

turning redly under a spotlight,

others an outline, badly sketched.

Those like me see the absence. Say apple

and I picture only the place

where it should be. Say Cal

and I can’t see his face at all. Say Springfield, say

where are you from, and I don’t think

about the fairgrounds, wet and empty,

waiting for August’s Ferris wheels and 4-H tents

to clutter them up, about the Chili’s

and Fridays and Applebee’s in a neon-lit row

down the street from my high school, the Meijer

where my friends’ moms bought their groceries,

the Whole Foods where my mom sent me to get ours.

And soon I’m narrating it out loud to Knox

like I’m telling him a story: look,

that’s the Barnes & Noble with the Starbucks

where I wrote all my papers, that’s

my favorite Jimmy John’s, that’s the road

to my house, the house my mom orders

stacks of packages to, where she does Pilates