Division

We are watching a show about a murder

in a town where it always rains.

The light from the screen turns your glasses

into two blue squares of nothing.

There is a foot of space between us,

a valley of fabric and dust.

Right in the middle sits a potato chip

you must have dropped during the news.

It’s been crushed into the corduroy,

a jagged, yellow star.

When I look at it, I see the stain

of the oil sinking into the threads,

making a dark spot that won't come out.