First One Out

She called at noon. I said yes before I knew

what I was saying yes to. That's the groove

worn in me — the oldest, always on cue,

always already moving before the move

is made. I ate the rest of lunch

standing at the counter, didn't sit,

because sitting means settling, means the hunch

of deciding how you feel about it.

The phone face-down beside the mustard jar.

The amount not large enough to name,

not small enough to not feel. Near and far

at once. The usual claim

dressed in a different sentence.

I stood there until the bread went stiff.