Exposure

The air is too thin and too bright today.

I’m carrying my wool coat like a dead animal

because the weather turned soft while I was sleeping.

In the gutter, the slush is retreating,

leaving behind a flattened Sprite can,

green and jagged, finally seeing the light.

Everyone looks too pink and sudden.

I see a man in new loafers—no socks—

and the skin of his ankle is so white

it’s almost blue. You can see the veins

branching like frozen rivers.

I want to tell him to cover up,

that it’s too early to be this visible,

but I just keep walking, swinging my empty arms,

wondering where I’m supposed to go now.