Relocation

The pharmacy lights have a frequency

that makes my teeth feel loose.

I was holding a bottle of generic relief

when I saw him by the seasonal cards.

"How's Chicago?" he asked,

his voice carrying over the hum of the fridge.

I thought about the lake I've never seen,

the wind I've only read about in novels.

"It’s cold," I said. "The traffic is a bear."

The linoleum was a mirror of white tiles

stretching out toward the automatic doors.

I didn't tell him I live three blocks away

in a room that smells like old damp.

I just paid for my pills and walked

into the rain that didn't care

where I was supposed to be.