There is cake
and my husband plants poems
under my keyboard
phone calls and texts
I am stuffed with love
my mother sings to me
before noon
because that’s the rule
the day sewn up
with that half hour
unplanned
between stops
a cinnamon bun
an interview on the car radio
indie filmmakers
their journey makes my legs twitch
with my own big dreams
I had thought I would use the pocket of time
to reflect before the year thaws
into a murky version of itself
but I am too fizzy for contemplation
I unroll the window
a man is picking avocados
from the grocer’s basket on the sidewalk
he is singing Against All Odds by Phil Collins
I join in
loud
and then I drive away
not even blushing.