spoke to a cop, a rock,
a damsel, a demon,
one too many friends.
Ask me if I'm giving up:
two flat tires on a tricycle
and some elevation ahead.
These buildings are boxes and I'm free
inside them.
Somehow the stairs
fight me: play a game called thin
air
and tumble.
Even the friends I create ask
too many questions.
As luck would have it, the search was had
for somebody else.
Scalded my nose
thanking the stars.
Refused a ride
home just to walk
with somebody real.
-the ambassador
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