March

The car wash gives you options:
basic, deluxe, supreme.
You can cry in there for free. The owner
can’t see you, with the suds & all.
One time he did while drying my car.
He refused my tip, said Come back tomorrow
you can ride as much as you need.
So I did, & when the attendant asked
Basic, deluxe, supreme? the owner came out,
whispered in the guy’s ear
while he nodded along. Pressed
a bright blue button & my car was pulled
into the void—a word I think of sometimes.
They must be losing money. All that good,
green soap. Shadow tentacles
slapping my windshield.
He rejects my Venmo. Come back
tomorrow, he says. My car is the cleanest car
in town. Jack Russells lose their minds
when they see themselves in its reflection
parked outside Bagel Barrel.
I slip an envelope of cash under the bay doors
at dawn. I feel like I’m in a movie.
I see the owner pushing a stroller
at the farmer’s market. He waves to me.
His mustache is the color of pollen.
I try the lox spread, even though I don’t like fish.

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