He has a doctorate in goofing off
and paper airplane making,
spit ball rolling, degenerate forming.
He has spit but I am mouth –
I can’t do any better.
There’s an emergency exit
tucked in his pocket like condom, credit card,
a receipt from gas station for a Monster.
He also keeps his papers there –
I don’t know how he has so much space –
papers for joints and pots and flying.
I hide in him, sometimes.
Try to find more but he is a thrift store puzzle,
short five or six pieces
and I can guess, but never see him in full.
It kills me, but he reaches and grabs me by the wrist
and I realize, too late, there is no exit.
He folds me and his from is stunning;
I am straight and crisp and white.
He throws me and I soar
past big heads and small minds.
I slam into the trash.
The bell rings.
He leaves me on his way out to rot.
Anastasia Jill (Anna Keeler) is a queer poet and fiction writer living in the southern United States. She is a current editor for the Smaeralit Anthology. Her work has been published or is upcoming with Poets.org, Lunch Ticket, FIVE:2:ONE, Ambit Magazine, apt, Into the Void Magazine, 2River, and more.