me ananya and michelangelo
each end up with one cannele from
my saved food box. I eat mine
with a cup of ginger tea in my room
from the top, as though it is a mountain
I am decapitating. I hand michelangelo
his outside his door and he is surprised
flattered thank you soli thank you takes it
dramatically opens the bag and smells it
(a token of my appreciation, I say,
for lending ananya the bike). ananya takes
theirs in a plastic bag, wrapped up in their backpack
with their dark bread and danish cheese, folded into the
knapsack for the airplane, all the way now in london
where they text me: they are home.