i cannot deny the sky was alluring as Instagram

despite curfew, gulls flying south

into torn edges of violet-hued clouds.

the power of bigotry is a machinery, often brutal

returning from naarm, almost touching the moon

before the next cruelty-free landing,

you asked me, what did i do with my life?

woke blunders, small embarrassments in the precinct,

you know, the maze our fathers invented for our demise?

i started a mutiny, gave birth, scribbled on my palm.

bought an ostrich feather boa scarf on Etsy.

high as His Highness, i lived with blackouts,

lost sight of dad over chalk farm where the canal

meets the lock. like the mechanical buckle of a train’s

burning axle, like those delicious evenings

when schoolgirls walk the street, smoking weed,

lights flashing through the trees, i could hear traffic,

sirens at noon coalesce with whipper snippers,

frogs, cicadas, soon it would be the hour of bats.