Glare Song

At the capitol they looked at me with

sadness

or

suspicion

or

contempt.

Inside their cars, as the hard sun beat a reflection into the windshields, I could see faces occasionally eclipsed by the sun.

Contempt will turn her head around to leer at you.

Sadness is at a glance, quickly slipping away.

Suspicion, oh sweet suspicion, mother of wonder, science, and sometimes torture
she just stares.

I could smell car fumes through cold air
and all my lungs knew were a long walk.

I was tired and now I am a ridiculous man in paradise.

Maybe today I will pack my boxes to move north and away altogether.

For I too am a selfmade man