there is a unicorn in the lobby
the blazers scored over 100 points
last night, so of course i traversed
the cold urban streets to the only
mcdonalds in downtown portland,
to receive my free chicken nuggets.
inside, a man was asleep on the floor,
and we all pretended to ignore the
scenario—the manager prodding him,
telling him to wake up, telling him
not to hit his head on the bench
he had nestled under.
this is portland, the land of
a thousand homeless, left to rot
in city streets.
this morning the train braked
suddenly, shortly after the stop
in old town/chinatown, throwing
us all off balance and launching a
couple of poor standing souls
forward into guard poles; a curt
reminder of the fragility of these
meat bags in which we are
cocooned. something was
wrong with the train. the
conductor didn't tell us what.
we left in exodus and i
walked to work among the
detritus of the vagrants.
an old attorney received a
christmas card in the mail,
from another firm. a woman
in the group photo was
instantly recognizable: i
walk past her nearly every
morning. i am intimidated
by her sheer concussive beauty
and style—and her twin shield
headphones blocking out the
croon of lechers. she never
looks at me. i will never know
her, so long as we pass each other
on the street.
there is a unicorn in the lobby,
protecting the christmas tree.
no one knows where it came from.
just another serendipity
to mark on your tally sheet.