They’re advertising tick vaccines again on big vinyl tarp
When you touch it it’s warm
It bounces a little in gentle wavelike lateral movement
A few days later, even if nothing happened
They suspend the giant insect down
By multiple strings, slowly
Bad mooded, hooded, brooding interns in chunky handyman shoes roll up the decommissioned plane
They leave it by their truck and sneak off to get a snack
While I figure out what would happen if I squeezed into the scroll
They wouldn’t notice a body in the roll
I do it and wiggle my way up to the tick
It has a big red belly
I observe it’s expandable shell
It embraces me with its eight jointed arms and I fall asleep until I find
They are bringing the tarp to a sunlit field
At the industry district
Where the bus stops aren’t named after streets but after factory parts
„Decommission Plant“
We melt waiting for our turn in the furnace.