The vacuum came to the party with you.
It was silent.
Later I found the vacuum outside on the porch—
and the vacuum gave me deja-vu. Except:
Instead of the vacuum in the deja-vu,
in the deja-vu, it was you. And
we were working the evening’s air machine together—
springs and pulleys—with our noticing.
Noticing you notice me notice you.
Posting all our moves.
Today, I am hoping to run into you, and I do—
You are taking a walk
with the vacuum. I want to speak with you
alone. But no. Deja-vu: