D –
I dreamt I biked to the Indian Grove playground
and you were there slouched on a bicycle.
Stumpy legs on dirty asphalt,
neon-green hair screaming against the sky
(the clouds are red like a freshly-slapped face)
and me with a heaving chest,
salt-trails running down cheekbones and hiding
in the corners of my mouth.
I hope one day your parents find
the black ink on your stomach
or maybe the grimy ashes from
Camel cigarettes flicked off into carpet.
I hope the back of a school bus makes your teeth grind.
I hope I make your skin crawl.
I am a crazed bird with bones like broken chalk
coming to peck out cruel eyes.