your little idiosyncrasies
indulged in when no one
could possibly see
everyone does it � eh?
picking your nose on the commute
passing the porch with the sunflower bench

(so familiar you�ve dangled your legs
over its edge having a fag
in the raw light)

no one can see, two lanes approaching
you in your low-down Tercel, an SUV
sidling up
the pick turns into a scratch
ahh itchy nosemornings how long
�til you pick for strangers?

in the grocery, damned uncomfy
insistent thong � the isle�s empty
(for the moment) and you reseat it
studiously reading soup labels
for the calorie count
what if, what if
you take your leisure � pause knowingly �
for the unshaven man
with the world-weary eyes
turning in with his cart of steaks
and wine

that one pause, that one intentional
slip, would it grow until you were
buzzing semis on the highway,
your skirt hem bunched about your waist?


�2004 by PJ Nights
~previously published at Slow Trains