It’s a sunshine yellow block of clay
And there is hardly anyone there, foreign and
Even more quiet because you are the only ones
Except for a child that hits a note over and over again,
Melody of discontent.
There’s food but it’s not what you ordered
And bullets litter the lot outside
Like wishes, like stars.
A car backfires
And speeds away.
The next day
It’s a hard, black glass box
And it’s full and getting fuller, with expressions
That box you out and deny you your own
Except for when they have their noses in their coffee,
Discord of judgement.
There’s a breakfast plate and it is perfect
And the cars line up outside
Like knives, like bodies.
A door jingles
And closes behind you.