Their bars are bars there.
It’s just that the taps
have all run dry.
Behind a wall
computers clank, buzz,
dilapidate.

Behind thickened glass
clerical workers
patter like hail
on shingled roofs.
Beyond walls and glass,
sallow-white leaks.

I sit rough somewhere.
Cold, unfeeling stone
everywhere.
A payphone stares
jeeringly at me.
I curl up tight.

Mother and father
surely spite me now.
Brother won’t know,
no, he won’t know.
Others never will.
Don’t comfort me.

I’m in pajamas.
I’m grasping at straws.
I’m falling fast.
I’d like to know
how much is the bail.
“Sixty-thousand.”

My fingers are pressed
on a copier
like those old, dear
library books.
Copied and copied.
Next I’ll be shelved.