Cincinnatti Chili
by Adam Selzer

Once upon a series of small towns - God, I miss the city.
The water starts to boil, bubbling up like lava
and I slip the long, thick noodles into the pot
and put the leftover chili in the microwave.
If she hasn't gone to England,
then I think she's in Ohio tonight
so I'm making Cincinnati chili - spaghetti, with chili on top.
Hot enough to burn my mouth.
Rain hits the window from outside - it can't get me
but the hot water from the pot bounces to my face.
Is it raining where she is tonight?
No, of course not.
It snows there in January.

I've never been to Ohio, but Cincinnati I love you.
I love your streets, your suburbs, the symphony orchestra
I love your lights, your highways, the Reds.
I don't know if you really serve chili like this
over noodles, like a sauce,
but if you love me back,
maybe just a little,
can you tell me if this is what she's having for dinner tonight?
In some diner on a cold corner?
All alone, wishing someone was there with her?

I throw away the leftovers into the yard,
Like an offering.