Smoothemuse

chewed and discarded

stuck fast to the sidewalk

you’d like to tap the chewer on their shoulder

and tell them hey

I’d like to have your shoe please

so that I may plaster its underside

with colorless, flavorless goop

that you won’t stop thinking about until it’s gone

scraped forcefully from your sole

with some kind of unyielding metal object

which you stole from a nearby restaurant countertop

believing your own deeds to be harmless

and while you’re scraping away at this man’s soul

the child in the restaurant picked up a different utensil

and running towards their mother to show them

tripped forward, on their own feet, without warning

and it became lost inside their head

No, that’s not ketchup

nor strawberry preserves

nor gum

but now you’re thinking about it and can’t put it away

so while in your disturbed and guilt-ridden headspace

the hypothetical chewer then raps their shoe upon your head

and runs in the other direction

half-barefoot

into the misty Manhattan morning

Why wasn’t he wearing socks?

asking yourself, lying on your back on the cold cement

now there’s gum in your hair

so you’re afraid to get up

you wonder

if it would have been better to have taken the spoon

or just used your fingers

staring up at the sky you watch

as a pigeon flies into a window