I smile at every small victory,
accomplishments so great, and the onlookers, stunned,
        pieced it together, but the soreness in my teeth,
                it won't wander for its own respite: all of the smiling children driven past,
                I loved them anyway, every eyesore pausing to rest.
                
"Now, Elana," I tell her, "the clothes torn from me every day,
        the autumn whisper's rustle against the leaves (you said it so much more poetically),
        they are nothing to me, not compared to my fast-food,
        the crunch of the onion rings in my teeth, more delicious each time."
        I was given a confused stare,
        I couldn't blame her (stupid girl)
        so I sank into the curb and dragged my gaze past her.

The subtlety I gave her,
        the gentle hum of the room and the glow of the television,
        the clean corners and the comfort,
        the warmth I grant myself every day,
        she tossed it at me with a grin and stomped her feet in the puddles,
        so I give her a stern look, a disapproving cluck, and bury myself in my work,
        she looks back at me and grins and leaves,
        and I hear the subway rumble close and I get up and I leave,
        and the glances of the subway's people, I would have told you as much as them,
        but I'm not sure where you went; maybe you will be back here tomorrow.

I woke up that day dizzy, with a numbness in my arms,
        she gave it to me, I remembered, the expectation was so much,
        and the satisfaction every day, the same words beginning every sentence,
        "I love oranges," I tell her, "the tear of its skin against my teeth is fantastic."
        "Shut up," she told me. Oh well, tomorrow she will love them, I tell myself,
        and the burst of the juice on her tongue, the brilliance,
        but now my legs are sore from the effort,
        the pounding of the pavement against my feet from each fall,
        so I will stare at the road and I will dedicate myself to the detail,
        the firm outline of every shape,
        and tomorrow, when the music from my radio vibrates the change in my car,
        I will feel more awake.