The Transparency of Greed

I waited for the phone to ring until the light

slanted low enough to catch the greasy mark

where I’d leaned my head to watch the street last night,

staring out for headlights in the dark.

There is a smudge of knuckle on the pane,

a rainbow blur of oils and human skin,

showing exactly how I felt the strain

of wanting something out to let me in.

I’ve been looking through the glass for days,

forgetting that the glass is even there,

until the sun hits all my desperate ways

and leaves them oily in the afternoon air.