drip, drip, drop.

I refuse to sit

plopped down next to Rasi

in a sewage system chilling with the rodent posse.

Wet slime slicked on rust pipes

smiles sinisterly in the moonlight.

Rasi sees my agitation,

yet gives no indication

of discomfort in the garbage nation.

Exploring Milan’s backroads,

looking for an adventure,

to escape the harsh truth

of parental savages.

Mom and pop, mother and father

swinging verbal swords so close to our faces

nearly sliced cheeks, threats of the hospital.

We are safer in this rank haven

with scaled water dragons,

as heaven’s highest rank

couldn’t stop our blood demons.

They flop to the drip drop

and sing groans to let us know

our only way out is through

their stomach so

we keep our distance

and medicate our time

with the alligator,

locking our eyes with the exit gate

humming nursery rhymes.

–L.A.