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.