We walked and smoked
an old, worn out joint
in between a school and church.
Inappropriately, how we did
most things.
We talked about life
and where we should be,
and why aren’t we there?
And why is there a chain
between us?
The wall is gone, but the chain?
It's strong, it weighed me down all day.
Running my hand along the metal
loops, my fingers dancing on our
disconnection.
Gliding over our separateness.
Back and forth we walked
chains and walls and years
separate us. We met in the
wrong lifetime.
We walked and smoked
the moment burnt and gone and the high, gone too.
And to him, I was one joint.
To me, he was a forest fire.