Identification

The sun is low and mean today,

cutting across the coffee table

to show me exactly how I've spent the afternoon.

There is a ghost of a thumbprint

on the glass of the tablet,

an oily whorl that looks like a map

to a town where I used to be happy.

I keep scrolling through the news,

adding my layers of grease to the surface

until the screen is a fog of my own making.