Twisting through the midnight streets, we meander,
Touching any hope floating by.
The shadow of a tree makes me
pause. My eyes lean in and when they wrap themselves
around the little sunset globes, I cry.
I hate oranges.
Look, there are plastic stars resting on all the fences;
I wrestle them.
I lose and I sigh.
Black cats yowl, the yellow, hollow
O’s of their eyes pulling me into the darkness.
I take a step back.
I’m on the outside now. I can taste it.
I’m walking alone, a single solider,
leading but not the leader,
but it’s alright.