On a Street Corner, Attempting to Imitate a Wheedling Machine

On a street corner
by the ghost of a bookstore,
we see a grey-tipped man
and young woman breaking up.
She holds him angrily
by lapels his green shirt
does not have.
He is thinking fast
like a doomed machine,
trying to apply updates.
Please do not power off
or unplug your machine.
Let me fix this.
Let me install
just one more
pitiful correction
to your flawed system,
his eyes wet
with useless
brownness beg.
Will the beauty
wait and correctly
power off?
Or will she say
screw this,
do a hard reboot
of her evening
in those sexy little boots,
grind away,
just turn
the broken corner
where all those ghosts
they loved to read
used to live
back when books
and patience
were still alive?
Back when
her boots
meant less.

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