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my glass fist hit his glass jaw and we shattered and scattered, fell between the sidewalk cracks, cutting a boy reaching for a quarter. the maintenance man swept us up, threw us down the bottom of a trash can and carried us over the sidewalk to a dumpster where shadows of teenagers threw 40s into the night, and they shattered, and scattered over my glass fist and his glass jaw. next morning, 5am, the trash truck dumped us down a chute, where we scraped against fish bowls and windshields and light bulbs, before being tossed in an incinerator. we melted in swirls of color and protest, and came out as a glass harmonica which a blind man played in an empty chicago bar when the sun went down.