Sleeping at the power plant,
curled up behind the machinery.
No sounds anywhere, except one:
the dusty, electric hum
of machines more powerful than I.

You’d said, between mouthfuls;
“You’ll make new friends.
The new house: even bigger,
It means we are more important.
You see? You understand?”

So bag packed,
and I’m off through the woods.
Contents: one sandwich, one mix tape,
one walkman, one blanket,
one pair of batman pajamas.

Some more sounds:
Me eating my packed sandwich,
the far-away sound of my walkman headphones
resting on the floor beside me,
and the ghosts of yesterday,
tapping along on the green sheet metal.

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