Grearhead II by: Ann Fuhrig, Mixed Media, 2018
day 231
spent staring at the overhead cement.
numbers lack value in this living graveyard.
I am like bruised produce at the market,
my number only useful for tracking purposes.
mystery meat through a door slot really lacks
the crisp bite of a green apple. but in this place
of padlocks and orange smocks, the customer
is never right. I inspect my weathered hands
and wonder which one is the left or the right.
it does not really matter honestly, because I
Am unable to decently tell the difference. the
tiny punctures in my veins leaked out what
I knew before. when I wasn’t just a number