Your car is stalking me.
For some illogical unknown reason,
I notice silver Saturn Ions more than any
other vehicle that has ever existed in the
history of the earth.

More specifically,
I notice the ones  that have an unusually clean exterior,
with leather seats and a collection
of empty discarded coffee cups.
-Not that I habitually peer through tinted car windows
(although, you can learn a lot about a person
from the items stashed in the backseat of their vehicle)

You like your coffee black,
just in case you're at someone's house
and they don't happen to have
cream and sugar.

You also don't like to be late,
but often are.

These are the kind of facts my brain processes
when I feel that underground anxiety,
that I might have to run into you,
now,
at eleven oclock on a Wednesday
at Sobeys.
(Because that's when I like to buy my
chickpeas and havarti.)

I don't usually feel like I have the energy
to for-go the gritty, loaded small talk.

"It's been so long!
How's your family?
We should really catch up over a beer sometime."

Or not.

Because I spent a long time recording
illogical, irrelevant facts that probably no other person
that has ever existed in the history of the earth knows.

Because I just want to wander quietly
and reflectively
through these super market isles
without the fear that I might have to see you
standing next to the 2%.