Columbia House introduced me to Gerald Levert
in 1991, before methamphetamines replaced cassette

tapes as the drug of choice for nice, Iowa boys.
I couldn’t say no to the nice lady on the phone,

and to this day freeze in the face of the entire
service industry. Servers, cashiers, mechanics all

want to know where I want to do and suddenly I’m
that fox we passed on I-75 caught in a rictus

of terrified indecision, knowing that things have
drastically changed, things are bigger, things are

faster, and I do not understand except that they
expect an answer, a crossing, at their convenience.