I feel
a bit like a
coat rack.
Specifically the
metal hook
beside the
hanging hats.
Holding the warmth
of the room
until it’s cold enough
to come back.
I feel
a bit like a
telephone pole.
With thick wire
straddled across
my shoulders.
Holding everyone’s conversation
outside of both
sending and receiving.
I feel
a bit like a
yellow tooth.
A film of moss
alone
but a smile
in a group.
Held in place by
healthy gums
doomed to rot
since it began.