Lonely in the City

It's not like
we'll be lonely in this city.
Not when you're so much like
the ham in a sandwich; not when
it rains milk every saturday, or,
if it's sunny, the sidewalks melt
like candy bars. It's not like we'll be
lonely.

(I shake my head whenever
someone mentions your names;
they confuse me. I tap my fingers
nervously on the seat of this bench).
I'm not so lonely-- I mean,
when you seem to be made of
french-fry looks darting across
diners from over your beard,
when you're so much like
humanity-coloured milkshakes or
mustard-headed streetside
hotdogs I hardly have time.