I beg for a dollar, but your pocket is cold.
The concrete carves a nest for invisible to hatch.
You don’t like the view from your window,
the trash is covering manicured grass.
I have skin and bone, a rusty heart, two degrees in math,
but I am lower than the pigeons shit-bombing your trees.
You roll me in assumptions, plastic bag me loser,
and fall into your smart phone shuffling selfies until
you have enough Photoshop to impress with a lie.
Never a question, never a word… I’m a paper bird
dressed in second hand waiting to be recycled.
It’s hard to learn how to fly in a sky made of concrete.
©Susie Clevenger 2017