Why don’t I dance anymore
in the little cracks of the day
or follow my nose
when the air outside is saturated with morning pastries?

Each second is precious
and I’ve claimed this one already
But not for pastries
or dancing
maybe I can work it in three weeks from Tuesday

I used to turn the music up loud,
sing terribly with the windows open
Now I walk with headphones and avoid eye contact—
except with small eyes
Who look up at me, unwavering and curious
I feel both attacked and seen