I went to the grocery store for milk, and bought limes
too. The cashier asked me if they were lemons.

The drive home was uneventful, people walked their dogs,
cars sat on the side of the street, some with smashed-in

windows. I clocked the price of gas as I passed by the station,
but realized I had no reference. I buy gas so rarely now.

The person in the turn lane ahead of me was distracted
and missed the green light entirely. I sat in my car

watching them stare out the driver’s side window.
I could have honked, but why?

Later, when I was home, I came downstairs to find you
staring out the window and I asked what you were looking at.

“Nothing,” you said, “just looking out at the world, like a cat.”