A4

Caught on it, the crinkling of plastic
the long line of ledgered paper
rambling through the dustscape
inescapable calculations, dromedary
sipping on its water hulk, sandy
and scraped, blistered hoofs clacking
pavement; hitched to hydrants in Saudi,
burst children’s attention spans
on any hot summer day.

I did not want the chocolate chip cookies.
I picked A4. But fate intervened.

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