Emilia Phillips
for Gregory
On the edge of our window
table, light through glass
refracts—two bottles. We break
bread & fill our saucers
shallow, eat until on the street
below, a car hammerheads
into bicycle, rider's leg
rag-wrung in aluminum
frame undertread. Squeal—
the brakes, & down
the hood the body skids. Crack
& recoil—pavement. Driver
& his passenger
unbuckle. The mussels
steam open. To your lips, you touch
your napkin, turn away. Inverted,
the scene in the bottles
gleaming—vinegar, oil.