Slaves

#24 Slaves

She has her slaves. It’s a honey comb
affair where her streets are crowded, brown
with fallen trees. Some feed her oranges,
some stroke her hair, some take her clothes off.

She chooses her hour, her meal. Between
the comfort of the unclear lines near the horizon,
she walks past the fence towards anxiety.
Leftovers and pebbles, we gather away from
her eyes.