To the woman who left her signal-strength map
in the copy shop on Courtenay Place:
I have your concentric circles.
I have your Prussian blue radiating outward
from a point marked H (for hub? for home? for here?).
The paper is translucent.
When I hold it to the window
your infrastructure overlaps with my kitchen
and I can almost get reception
in the part of my life where nothing connects.
Please collect before Friday.
I am beginning to mistake your plans for mine.