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.