Posted on
05.09.09 to
Victims by
Tristan Smith
And sun is a victim of the people it revolves around.
What am I a victim of? What am I not a victim of, I think, is the better question.
I am a victim of these keys not pressing down easily.
I am a victim of it being late.
I am a victim of a mother that loved too much.
I am a victim of a father that doesn’t like to golf.
I am the victim of hot summers that ruin my shirts.
I am the victim of short people, the people airline seats are designed for.
I am a victim of you, the reader, who was expecting something better.
I am a victim of poor planning.
I am the victim of hens crooning in the Saturn dusk.
I am the victim of apples that fell from the tree and rotted into a rich peat that sprouted ferns that children eat and hallucinate cities that tower, tower so high above me that I sweat and fume over their arrogance.
I am the victim of the quiet rustling of sheets a few feet away.
And now, so are you.
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