1st Spring Poem

Susie Asado in the parking lot.
Never to snow again!
Mobile phones ring louder
these slowly lengthening days.
The lights have come on.
Not in here, where it's always bright
yet at the same time unilluminated.
Nothing as crass as that.
Lack of vision as a constant.
The grey sky so grey that greyness grazes
unendingly. Something of stone in it.
What used to be called a parka
where I'm from in the chair next to me
inhabited by either a student or
a babaganoosh disguised as such makes
a parka-ruffling sound as she or he or it
or they flip pages, conk out,
put their chin upon the table with
an audible whoosh, like pastrami
being vacuumed, but more immature,
so higher.
Then their cheek.
The world enters us all equally,
too generous to be trusted.