By: Brian Choquet
shadows blend with the gravel
of their side street
we know the hornets
will retreat
amicably
to their hives snuggled under
roofs of plastic play homes
and cotton candy skies
I frolic
skipped past neighbors’
mailboxes
romp in games
of hopscotch on
a dormant sidewalk
I keep it awake
the garden gnomes
enjoy the company
they’ll sprout some small-talk
raked up from the previous day
them: a question
me: an answer
me again:
“how was the sun?”
they’re pasty but never burn
cheery for the workweek
but never grasp rapture
they’re the few that
know I’m a
genuine ghost
UV gifts me blisters
in Farmville
constellations gift me
illumination in Words
With Friends
I skip sleep from 10 p.m.
to 6:30 in the morn
windows carry an extra pair
of shades and layer of lamination
Facebook doesn’t let just
anyone declare their
safety unless hurricanes
rampage a sector of
the Internet’s nation
or monsoons
spank your
pouted
injections
ghost die
from
complacency
of suburbia
at all hours
just cuz we live
different lives
night will always
be safe
for those of my kin
that’s when hornets
snooze and lose sight
