Latex masks still down
the dew of guilt on our foreheads
the dim amber of the city’s night
the dutiful roar of the unmarked van that entombs us
the vacant stares we make out of the windows
the unsuspecting faces that cling to us
the streetlights that move by too quickly
the worms trapped under our skin
the silence that screams after us
the photographs sometimes held in our gloves
the songs we played in better times
the shining tools we look away from
the ghosts of those we must meet
the families we imagine for them
the louder thoughts we drown with muttered reasons
the lives we should have lead instead
the forgiveness we need for the things we must do
Pray for us
Latex masks up