They call me Subject B.
Belly full with the pills
they fed me, still hungry,
legs pumping
to pendulum this swing,
inside a playground
that ignores my miming,
shrieking and throwing feces,
at hairless beings who nox me.
Dreaming of melting
the swing's chain, I fly
feet dangling over
cages of sick chimpanzees,
to a distant galaxy
that grows banana trees.
Awaken I see
empty syringes strewn
outside the crisscrosses
of my cage, trenchcoats
storm like flurries.
I still cannot read my nameplate.
I hope on my swing,
pumping my legs
back and forth,
back and forth,
back and forth —
glassy eyes watering.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 2:38 PM UTC
They call me Subject B.
Belly full with the pills
they fed me, still hungry,
legs pumping
to pendulum this swing,
inside a playground
that ignores my miming,
shrieking and throwing feces,
at hairless beings who nox me.
Dreaming of melting
the swing's chain, I fly
feet dangling over
cages of sick chimpanzees,
to a distant galaxy
that grows banana trees.
Awaken I see
empty syringes strewn
outside the crisscrosses
of my cage, trenchcoats
storm like flurries.
I still cannot read my nameplate.
I hope on my swing,
pumping my legs
back and forth,
back and forth,
back and forth —
glassy eyes watering.
Request permission to use this poem