on the curb i watch the steam coming from a manhole cover 

a bowl of mircowaved soup below the city
i try to guessed the flavor
from the steam. 
or maybe it's a baked potato 
with mist coming from two fork holes in the side.
microwaved potatoes never cook evenly
but i never cook them twice.
i chew through the raw bits
warm but crunchy.
underneath the city a woman lives alone.
she loves to cook 
but all the recipes are for big families.
she doesn't want a big family but 
sometimes she sets a table 
with food at every station
pretending some guests don't like 
the spinach & others want only white chicken breast.
she wraps the plates up to eat later.
the steam turns into yarn
gray strings sticking out of the manhole cover.
i tug on one & a bell rings.
coffin bell i think yes let me out
of this box.
by box i mean city because the city 
is very small 
& holds so many people.
i counted twenty seven just
in my subway car. after i counted them
they turned into moths. 
i said farewell. 
the woman who lives down there 
just wanted some of her own space.
she doesn't have a sofa 
so she sits on a plastic box of 
her old shoes she won't throw away.
i lift the manhole cover
to follow the yarn. bloom of steam
smelling of broth.
chicken noodle soup
maybe she's sick i think.
but she's not & her house
is also a box with no windows.
she's scared to have a guest 
so i lay on the floor flat out
like a bug so maybe she won't notice.
she doesn't at first
taking me for another one of those 
baby roaches but then i sneeze
& she laughs at how silly she was
to think a whole human was an insect.
we eat from the same microwaved bowl
& she tells me how she works remotely
& doesn't have to leave her bed room.
i tell her i'd like a job like that
but also that i wouldn't mind 
actually being an insect
in her home. she says she would feed me
& treat me kindly. she doesn't mind bugs.
they're quiet & shiny.
i become quiet & shiny though still
not a bug. we finish the soup 
& i follow the grey yarn back out.