A wind cools my cheek
and I call it my gentle angel.
Another wind blows hobo B.O.
into my face, and I curse it as I curse
the drink that made me flush and faint,
though the previous drink filled me
to the brim with confidence and joy,
and I called it my dear friend.  

I don’t know what holds me together
from what blows me to pieces.  

A company I worked for got sold
to a bigger company in the World Trade Center
in 1997 and everyone was so scared
to get downsized, you’d have thought
the water cooler had been spiked
with downers, but in September 2001,
the Times listed the dead by employer
and I learned that all my co-workers  

had indeed been downsized,
and thus spared.