1.

the shingles are flying off the roof
in one line like a road you have to walk.
please don’t scratch your hair
until that section of your mind underneath disappears.
stop pouring your tea into air vents
and the potholes in the street.
you have a jar of cold water
and a bag full of cranberries, exactly twenty-one.
i’ve tied names like Astrid and Ingrid
with twine to my steering wheel;
and really, there’s only a year and a thousand miles
between all our wooden chairs and yours.
i wouldn’t worry.