FIRST IMPRESSION

by NATHAN BLANSETT

My first couple years in D.C.
I lived in a room in a basement.

Sorry. Ignore that.

When the man came over
he switched off the light in my room
and said, You know you could
pay someone to clean for you, right?

He was the most
charming man I’d ever met.
His suit, his bike helmet,
the little gap in his teeth—

At the spot down the street
he told me it was a good deal
if you did the math: a hundred dollars
a month got you 4 bottles and a taste
of each. You also got a pizza.

I wanted to join them, all of his friends,
these familiar strangers swirling the sediment
in their glasses, laughing, banging their fists
on the picnic table. It made sense
if you did the math:

male couples with double incomes
and no kids, day-drinking
on New Year’s Day,
zipping up their matching jackets
and biking back home.

I remembered going on walks
just after I moved here,
frigid, long, sunlit
morning walks in the park,
past a row of dark
and very old bonsai:

you could make something over time
if you cut it.

One day, people were shoveling
snow off the roofs of the embassies;
the next, cars were backed up
over the river just to see
the cherry blossoms.

They weren’t boring, they were useful
questions: what neighborhood
do you live in? How do you spend
your time? What are you interested in?

It was a city where people lived
under other people. No one was home
until you heard them upstairs.

author pic here

Nathan Blansett is

Next ( Next Author Name) >
< Previous ( Prev Author Name)