The boy will raise a hand to salute you: a resistor
in the electrical system of ideas. Then the feeling
alarm. Then, Formica daytime again.

I feed him while concentrating on the words
I feed him. (If I list them, we might fail.)
Then tongue to floor tongue to plastic

tongue to grit. We detect no faults
with the juices of the house. I am modern.
This isn’t speaking. This is happening.

The creation of composite material. All action
greeted with unknowing. We are making
each day as if a day is not a real thing.