passing cars flick glowing retinas
over curled-up bodies deep down in the ditch.
we were not made for fluorescent lighting
and the world at night seems far too bright
than the gentle beams from our childhood cars
dipped low and slow, shining just for us.
we held out our books from the back seat
and we hoped to catch licks of yellow light
like fireflies as it flickered by,
then bedtime under orange streetlights.
they cradled us in their hands like mice.
we were the future, but they wanted it bright.
the bench in the classroom flickers red-pink-clear
and the words on the whiteboard fall into numbers
and squiggle falsely under squinting eyes into
rabbits, badgers, dormice, hares,
a foreign language to the brave new world,
and a strange look on from the weary teachers,
who watch the world as it plays the river
and selfishly erodes its own riverbanks,
but their hands are tied, stuck fast in the net.
they watch as children play in the dirt
a little less for every generation that passes.
we squirm together like fish under fractions.
we are the new deer caught in headlights
and you will find us at the side of the road
hunched and bleeding, dazzled and cold
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 7:02 AM UTC
passing cars flick glowing retinas
over curled-up bodies deep down in the ditch.
we were not made for fluorescent lighting
and the world at night seems far too bright
than the gentle beams from our childhood cars
dipped low and slow, shining just for us.
we held out our books from the back seat
and we hoped to catch licks of yellow light
like fireflies as it flickered by,
then bedtime under orange streetlights.
they cradled us in their hands like mice.
we were the future, but they wanted it bright.
the bench in the classroom flickers red-pink-clear
and the words on the whiteboard fall into numbers
and squiggle falsely under squinting eyes into
rabbits, badgers, dormice, hares,
a foreign language to the brave new world,
and a strange look on from the weary teachers,
who watch the world as it plays the river
and selfishly erodes its own riverbanks,
but their hands are tied, stuck fast in the net.
they watch as children play in the dirt
a little less for every generation that passes.
we squirm together like fish under fractions.
we are the new deer caught in headlights
and you will find us at the side of the road
hunched and bleeding, dazzled and cold
