We lie scattered

like the salt on fries

like cabbage on kebab

scattered in the city

like badly parked bicycles

with pure entropic randomness.

We blame it on the big bang.

We lie battered

like run-over cyclists

on bat-friendly bike lanes

just like the causeless bruises

I’d rather have hidden

ashamed of my bad partner choices.

We lie scattered

like the little heaps of what stomachs once held

scattered on the sidewalks

like bigger things too

as the industrious businessmen

or the busy bottle bank beachcombers

on their scooters with bags filled

with wine bottles finished by the former

like climate disasters in the newspaper

like bombshells in Rafah

like black holes in our hearts.

​

We lie scattered

just like the places that have nearly become unnoticeable

the places where yesterday

helpful husbands with oat milk foam in their mustaches

were seen kissing.