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⸎

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To pass the hour, I hotwire a claw machine.

 

Drop in an imaginary token, judge my depths from all sides,  dangle the limp plastic talon over my prize and then

end up smashing through the front with a

balled-up, bare fist because nothing matters anymore.

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The teddy bear I take is badly faded, baby blue with a stitched-on smile and gross matted fur.

 

I brush off the flakes of glass, leave it sitting on the edge of one of the Skee-Ball lanes.

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It’s not mine to keep—I just couldn’t bear to see it encased like that anymore.

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_______

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All my defenses have been blown about by the powerful gale.

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I’ll have to replace them tomorrow, including every welcome pike.

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I predict it will be a very busy (and messy) day.

 

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