And so, we step out for a drinkat the place we always go.
We're docile and expressionless.
We're sexless as chess pieces in our coats,
lurching gracelessly along
through these streets we barely know.
We've been here for a couple of years
and still, nothing about it feels like home.
We've inhabited these lives
like nervous tenants, dear,
terrified we'll be ejected from them
though there's nothing for us here.
Amid pervasive mumblings about prosperity,
we've misplaced passion: it's the new poverty.
The generous indifference
of a city that's this big
is reinforced on days when snow
obliterates our tracks as they are made.
And the icy streets rush
up to greet each drunken step.
And every structure waves goodbye.
And everything reminds us what we've left.
We've inhabited these lives
like nervous tenants, dear,
terrified we'll be ejected from them
though there's nothing for us here.
Amid pervasive mumblings about prosperity,
we've misplaced passion: it's the new poverty.