after “Altruism” by Vievee Francis

Too much tattoo, too much “wisdom”,
too much knee touch, shriveled lime,
ice pools, too much tomorrow, as much
as the bar lighting makes him squint,
much like empty air (harshly, like hair) burns
in anticipation he begged, are you
Pretty much? Twice as much as he was—
So much sidewalk,
cement polka dots, how much rat sex
between loud metal door stops, where all
the shuddering paper bags shaped like wine bottles,
too much pretense, too much much ado, too much
walking. Can’t walk much faster.
In so much as I breathe, my chest can’t take much more breath.

I want to be left much more to be desired. To not think much when I put my leg, your leg, across our laps. I want much more me left, of not much left in between, not much left to the imagination. The feeling of forgetting how to count, not steps, not breaths, enough.

Anna Sugrue is a senior at Barnard College majoring in urban studies and sociology. She loves to write about cities.