Crow’s Nest

To all the high schools that look
similar every red brick outer wall
is just a costume in the image
of an archetype.

I can’t tell wild rabbits apart
when I see them run for miles
from the noises this town makes
when it gets dark out.

She climbs out her window at night
to desensitize herself to all that’s out there.
The flashlight beam is like an arm
that grabs a hold of what is hidden
until she’s certain she cannot find
her way home again.

Cashiers will punch the numbers in
and thank you for assuring their existence
while they tally up the hours in between them
and the stereos they stapled to their cars.

Those foggy windows making up the front
most walls are like the teeth on a colossal
person sleeping in the daylight where we gather.

I want to move the branches from the ground
to try and dislodge this balloon that’s caught among them,
but it is holding on afraid of where the wind
will try to take it, and the people who have made it
looking up.

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