Cruel men have kidnapped me.
And housed me in a cement cage.
Chained to the wall.
There is no light.
Or fresh air.
Only stagnation and frozen yogurt.
That is what I’m fed.
Each day, by the unidentified.
A dessert dish topped with crushed or crumbled snacks.
But it’s fat free.
Which makes me think the men aren’t so cruel after all.
Maybe i’m captive out of love.
In homes built to look like every other home.
Adjacent to each other.
Spaced out perfectly.
To grant us each our own space.
A space that can only be described as ‘enough.’
24-hour pharmacies, convenience stores, pizza and hot dogs, late night fast food, television, weed and dessert bars, buffets.
A basketball hoop in front.
That never gets dunked.
And an area in the back to imprison a dog.
Because everybody likes the idea of a dog.
There are exotic palm trees erected from the ground.
Tall and skinny with a small pom
Or short and fat with a large pom.
A combination of tall and skinny and short and fat.
Each space is reduced by them.
A death’s head of mediocrity.
The laughing irony of exotic banality.
This is the sport of conditioning the strong to be weak.
photo by gena mohwish