Desert

Trudging through
Piss soaked concrete
Avoiding wandering eyes
And evangelicals with megaphones
I send a prayer
I
Sit at the bus stop
Try to ignore the feeling
Of fear
The police car parked
On the corner
Stirs in the pit
Of my stomach.
Smile at the little girl in
The Bluey shirt
Sitting beside me
I avoid eye contact
With the bus driver
Slinking past the fare collector
I walk carefully
So the sparkling concrete cannot
Remember my presence
I make peace
With the eyes sliding
Down my neck
In the pristine white walls
With the squeak my shoes
Create
On the linoleum
I leave
Spoils of war
Held loosely over my shoulder
An illusion of
Belonging
Blackberries
Bell peppers
Spinach
Sweet and fresh
And mine.

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More From This Author

Florita's Other Works
Entries	God is the blood under my fingernails • About the Author • I think so • Disquietude • Spite • What couldn't be done for me • rosary beads • You will look at me even if it is just to bury what remains • Innocence Revisited • Please Stay • Of Candles and Coconut oil • Cyclical • Joy Comes to me in Different Shades of Red • Tourist • A Friendly Elegy •
Other