One day the buildings will collapse
into a mirror.
we will have to satisfy our vanity
with shop windows, dressing
up in reflected memorabilia.
Our storefronts lie next to one another
like the carnival
that pounded spikes too deep.
It’s been years now and the funhouse
has eroded. Still, we walk inside
expecting mirrors and light.
The rear tent flaps are open,
the dogs snap manic at the wind,
and we act like it’s nothing and pay
for our coffee and leave.