this is a poem

this is for toronto
this is for spitting men in pink shirts
this is for singing in elevators by yourself
this is for hot dog vendors who lie about what's in the meat
this is for people who clutch their ipods like a crucifix against their chest
this is for feeling like drinking scotch while wearing a tie in a hotel bar at night
this is for finding inspiration in dirty streets, clean people, warm pizza
this is for wanting to watch tv in my underwear in front of an open window
this is for the creepy silence of the streets at midnight on a thursday
this is for the incoming rainstorm collecting over lake ontario
this is for cold feet and warm sweaters
this is for bedtime




I miss home.
saturday.