We go to the art museum.
They have art from around the world.
Upon leaving we struggle with umbrellas
and forget to return our ear phones.
Walking down Charles Street
we hear strange voice-overs
at every corner.
"Many of these alleys
used to be small rivers
going to the harbor."
Hmm. Interesting.
At home
we walk around the house.
The voice-overs
become our super-egos,
our conscience.
Hers is saying "Leave Him,
Let Go of Him."
Mine is saying
"Write poems about her."
