Pisaries Creator

The prickling and the tingling,

of my overworked legs,

like a little lost dog on the corner

with a red collar and a dog tag

with the name scratched off

that has run for days.

If you see me darting behind

the bushes to get away

from you and find relief

by myself, don’t snicker and laugh,

don’t turn around as if you

never saw me because I saw you.

Don’t tell your parents

over dinner about the oddity

you saw, that thing with one eye

closed more than the other,

with lips the color of a rotten cherry,

hair the color of dry dirt,

and skinny fingers glued together.

The noises and the sounds

buzzing around me,

following me, letting me know

it is okay being lost

for a while and forgotten

by the ones who are busy.

If you see me again,

hiding behind the bushes,

tail between my legs like

the little dog wanting some food or

companionship, keep looking at me,

keep trying until I talk.