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Sheriff
Published Oct 21, 2023
Updated Oct 21, 2023
Culture
1 min
Culture
Published Oct 21, 2023
Updated Oct 21, 2023
1 min
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269 readings
Sheriff
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I tend to the neighborhood. Paper cups
and chaos on the back seat,
and a serious, felt hat from a ba-
zaar. Zircon stone bridges in place
of bones, but my gaze still catches.
I scan.
A nation hides from me, shivering,
under dream-duvets. They know well
what they hide. They carry it
on their backs. “We lived, we slept.”
And now you ask for mercy, and a future.
I see you asking, no—begging for it,
with saliva on your coat.
Who believes you have nothing
to do with this suicide masquerade?
Who did you dress up as? Who do you care for?
Your illness shines.
I am my parents’
most ruthless
form.
269 readings
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