The roses smelt of Styrofoam cups,

the ocean waves a blur in my water color mind.

Olive skins and broken strollers

litter the starry sunset.

The sun a saturated egg yolk

on the dark, rough skillet horizon.

A homeless child peers through a window

at a glowing family eating from their sunshine plates

as the ivory moon taints the cold air around her white

and the gentle sounds of a sorrowful violinist shimmer in the air.

The TV screen is mirrored in a loving mother’s teary eyes

while she strokes her daughter’s soft black hair,

the girl’s snores softly strumming the air.

My feet touch the warm floating layer of sand,

a few grains falling through the unfathomable mist below me

as I took steps, each one closer and closer to the playground.

Monkey bars and colorful slides and ropes and swing sets,

young children’s haven.

This one is a fraud.

—May. 30, 2010