We lie to our own detriment
like an insect spraying killer
in its own face like it knows
how it’s disgraced the sacred anthill.
I walk the wooden bridge like
a balance beam and stare
at the reflection in the water
always thinking of it
as another world
with fingernails so long
they curl like question marks
and eyes blink like the static sparks
you get when you drag socks
across the carpet.
It’s okay to throw the plastic
in the fire place because
the chemicals can’t hurt us
at the rate that they would need
to win the round.
I always wait to hear the bell sound
but I’m not around there anymore
so I’m just waiting.
I shrug off all the stories
that they try to share like I would have
a reason left to care about
the same patterns I have seen before
or lived through on a repeat even more.
I walk in quietly when everyone is waiting for me
and I listen to the small things that they say.
He’s usually on time but I don’t see him yet
I wonder if he’s lost out there
in headlight glare, or if he’s finally
not coming back at all.

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