Wednesday, June 4, 2014

poem || Holly Day

Plastic Asses

Metal-wheel lightning my only source of sunshine,
birds of prey fall smoking from the tracks
I wonder what they’re thinking.
In this little hole in the wall of the tunnel
unexpected hand on my shoulder, condescending eyes
watch through the windows of the cars the wheels
that drum beyond my sky at night, past
this cage I call home this city

is not real. I scuttle to safety
from little laughs, stupid jokes, air that burns
in my nostrils, my neighbors are weird.
They eat each other.
New hand on my shoulder, condescending
hands jerk back, absorb the recoil
this is it. I wonder what they’re thinking
these passersby

They’re not my friends.

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