Bright stars, cigars,
smoke rings
on a bus in Rekjavik
there were children on the streets
jumping rope, spitting seed shells
while Jeryicah told me stories
of Ben-Hur and the Wizard of Oz.

Stucco muts,
dirty needle cigarette butts,
and sewage leaking from
a condemned apartment building
those streets were empty
And my name was on everything
like Jeryicah's hand bag made from
sweat shops and sold by rich men.

The bus was stopped
where it’s always a moonless night.
Troops in rags of uniforms
I looked for familiar faces but
I didn’t see yours between their
justice-starved frowns.

We handed them our
collected cigarettes and
children
stared at our clean shoes
they cried
because they were happy
that someone was blessed
with freedom.



(*A collaboration with Kayla)