In
the Morgue
I’m packed in here with the others.
The port authority and the border patrol
have no jurisdiction here.
We
don’t pay attention to new arrivals,
we don’t pay rent,
our pockets have all been picked.
Nobody’s
on anyone’s side,
there are no sides. (except)
Nobody
cares about:
who I prayed to,
or what color I am.
Nobody says anything about my weight
or my outfit.
Nobody asks who I loved
or who I voted for.
I’m not afraid of someone trying
to jump my bones. (Although
it’s not impossible)
The
only divides are the cold-packed boxes
in which we now reside.
We’re
in line for answers and operations;
planting or incinerating.
Stuff we don’t care about anymore.
The
biggest complaint is about the tag
(it makes the big toe itch like crazy!)
J.
Bal