Heap

Sympathetic flea bags look up
sadly at the rafters in the warehouse
where the deliveries have stopped
and all the workers now are never
coming back.

There are torn up sneakers all spread
across the floor and even more out back
where the grass fought back en masse
against the concrete.

Young classmates take a short cut home
from where they wasted time drying
the outermost thin layers of their eyes
watching the score go up or health bar
dropping down.

There’s only one place in this town
that could have stopped them there
so slightly in their tracks where it was
brightly reminiscent of the past,
and there were others in the same
place in the same roles
like an old play with an update
of the cast.

And still there was no sight of any
distant light to draw them through
the fences and bring them back
to where the rules were on the wall.
They went on without another word,
and forgot about the lies they heard
from the corners of the room
as only whispers.

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