At the end of the day
a mound of accomplishments
but who thinks to applaud
what I didn’t do
all those faces
careening by
in tanks of gasoline
trusting that I will stay
put, obey
the painted lines
and all the words
I know and don’t use
like bullets
even dinner
there is no reason to ruin it
scooping salt like sand
on the beach
but still
he doesn’t even smell it first
smiles before the first bite
as though I am incapable
of rebellion
perhaps he is right
the distance from the edge
of the cliff
to the air
underfoot
has nothing to do
with inches.