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from the November 2005 issue

McDonald’s

I find the trace of your teeth in the foreign town.
I find the trace of your teeth in my arm.
I find the trace of your teeth in the mirror.
At times I'm a hamburger.
At times I'm a hamburger.
Salad sticks out of me and mustard drips.
At times I'm so totally
like all other hamburgers.
First layer: skin.
Second layer: blood.
Third layer: bones.
Fourth layer: soul.
And the trace
of your teeth
is deepest of all,
deepest of all.

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