I closed my eyes on the Luas the morning after
minus the grandeur of the night before.
I didn’t want to feel real there.
Not like in the night, when it was all I wanted and all I knew.
Or all I thought I knew.
I felt a lukewarm draft at the
hospital stop; a collective
of uncertainty. Mutual. En masse.
Not knowing what’s wrong won’t stop you
troubling other people with it.
Not knowing what you want to eat won’t stop you from
spending money on it anyway.
Knowing your bottle of water is
leaking in your bag won’t stem the
flow. Or stop it from destroying the postcard that Japanese couple gave you because you were “so beautiful.”