so says the straw hat

it is not July 5th like my calender claims it is not kissing weather it is not night with his bold impenetrable moon it is not as warm as I imagined it is not broken, this bicycle of mine it is not a dance it is not french it is not a typewriter tapping out letters or a piano learning song it is not paved or straight it is not home

Things you left in Austin: 1. The yellow towel hanging over the front porch railing. Just today dry until the summer storm rolled in. 2. Your toothbrush. As always, perched in a place so obvious that one never sees it. 3. A book given to you by a friend. 4. The hat on top of the typewriter that was once Nick's hat and was then your hat and was maybe never a hat you wanted anyway but then you grew to like it alright and now it is back here, in Austin, and not on your head. 5. Black swim shorts. 6. This empty bed.