coming to terms with suburbia

I cupped my hand, inched
you, forgotten friend,
closer. We caught

up over coffee
at one of your Star-
bucks. You offered

to pay, typical
you. “Everything’s on
the house,” you said,

“This venti cup, these
rich mahogany
chairs, those million

passing cars, a blank
check for property.”
When you left, I

closed my eyes for a
second and lost you
among the cars,

moving from one place
to another like the formal nomad
who never understood “lost.”


zachary heine (Sherman, TX, 1991)