Imagine there’s a girl
Who’s in a party dress, her world
An empty street. It’s all of her existence:
Unframed, unlimited. There's a sense
It’s late in the afternoon, those skinny shadows
Falling from her legs and stop sign. But who knows?
It could be early morning. Let’s zoom in for a closer view:
The storefront grates are down, except for two:
A rug place and a liquor store—which must be open, otherwise
They'd be shut tight. Her downcast eyes
Stare at the ground. You feel
That time has paused, or started to congeal.
On the curb, a crumpled pack
Of cigarettes will never get picked up; in a window, a stack
Of jumbled carpets, like an octopus,
Reaches out for her. It’s either them or us.
Everything is frozen into place.
The girl? The lone survivor of the human race.