Fair Use

The licensing fees for nostalgia
tripled in November.

It costs fourteen cents
to wonder if it will rain.

It costs a dollar fifty
to miss my father.

I cannot think
I am glad you are here.
That is a derivative thought.

So I look at your shoulder
and force myself to imagine
a one-armed astronaut
trying to fold a fitted sheet
inside a dying star.

My phone stays silent.

You pour the coffee.
You ask what I’m thinking about.

I say an astronaut.

You smile.

For a fraction of a second,
the astronaut drops the sheet.

I am glad you are here.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.