the rest of the world lives like this
partitioned
crumbling cement; enclosed

when pulling sweaters over heads
smelling of cigarettes
 and hallways of food

unpaved roads and for once
it's above freezing

the mud and the water
smell of that day

riding bicycles through the storm
and drunk
the next morning

and i walk through the closing bazaar
warm beer in my plastic bag
white sheet metal, rusting

and the one thing i'd never thought
to show up in winter

persimmons
are everywhere
waiting to be bought