Reach

Feedback in the speakers
and I cannot chill out
for anything.
The whole crowd of kids
push an old man around
and scream about
how nobody belongs here
anymore.

Nothing but salt
in the food
and the water leaves
a crust on every cup.
I cannot recall my neighbors name,
there is no path cut
from this village
between the two hills
looming over it.
We’ve lost our wishing well,
it seems this time, for good.

The language squirms
spray painted on
tunnel walls.
Our shadows pass over it
our footsteps splash
against the thin layer
of water on the concrete.
We run until the light returns
and hold each others hands
with foreheads pressed against
each other.

She wants to go
back to the party
but I convince her
the songs will reach us
where we are.