Shoes worn by angry feet scuff up mirror floors,
and white paper faces with blue lines
look down to see nothing reflected back
but searing lights and
ceiling tiles that would be so easy to claw through
and climb up out of
if not for the camera
sitting behind that front desk
with her finger to our lips.
Walls peel and whiteboards
squeak as marker fumes
waft down our eyes and noses
to put our sighing lungs to sleep.
We built a superman.
In our heads, we built a superman.
Clipped by a speeding bullet,
So that false blood, stolen blood, blood that was here first
Last night, I left the basement light on.
The stairs creaked and my paper-thin pajamas
rustled as the sickly little bulb pulled me close.
That house, worn down by sun and salt rain, was doomed. In a few years,
it would be a hollow replacement, gone from our stale grown-up brains.
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