part 2 of The Modern Hero
on your way to work
you are haunted by low-flying crows
the smell of cat wet on white sand (it was bin day)
cold air pinching raw cheeks.
the low-hanging sky threatened rain.
you wear his $80 leather jacket
no shirt between dead skin and your skin
where fingertip kisses blushed blue in five places.
this is you, ignoring all the cat piss in the world.
aimless, you kick stones at crows who croak it.
there is always the chance of blue skies for afters.
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