“Valentine’s Day, NYC circa 2018” by Anisa Joyce Caraballo

Anisa Joyce Caraballo

Valentine’s Day, NYC circa 2018

the sweeper drags its heavy body, spraying from an open mouth, and swallowing debris that this sleepless city has flung from its pockets. men without faces follow the beast down 7th Ave. flushing the remnants of 300,000 pedestrians down storm drains. all that remains: obscenities whispered by faceless men, me, and the cheesecake in a dark Juniors slowly turning. I sprint up 7th Ave. leaving behind only a Walgreens receipt, proof of purchase for the bubblegum-pink box pressed to my chest like a valentine. I think: maybe it was the chicken parmesan that had turned your stomach sour or the lonely cheesecake from Juniors. in these early morning hours, while the city gathers the last of its entrails, I scrub your sickness from a hotel garbage can rinsing it with water from the tub. I think about the 11 am housekeeper and the growing distance between us in this bed. what was once just a dinner in New York could be evidence that two hearts had turned sour in this city that devoted early morning hours to cleaning up after lovers and their messes.