Bring it down into the page

That one’s iPhone

Wheels mechanics

Wrought by far more genius

Than we can pretend

To pretend to fathom.

His face is lit

But damn if it isn’t

A cold glow.

Don’t you wish

They could’ve spilled some

Warmth on the glass?

Don’t you

Hope you won’t

Have to stare, neck down,

For too many more

Years?

At least in the bar,

Some people pretend.