I WANT TO BE AN ALOOF TWENTY-SOMETHING, EVEN IF IT’S A FALLACY

Pallets on a roof,

aloof twenty-somethings

on their coop-like

balconies, bent arms

of machinery, many

miles from the farms of

our ancestry.

 

Messed up love, kissing on the pavement, rolling in kebab,

dancing with someone, everyone, in a cramped bar,

water dripping from the ceiling on the bartenders head,

a roving hand on your back,

turn to see their face,

they’re invisible in the crowd,

you spend hours getting ready,

clothes,

shoes,

hair.

 

No one cares.

In the city you are invisible.