adults in the igloo

lost in self obsession on the tram leave bed and go to market just for somewhere else to be

they make sculptures out of ice

and take cash or card they’re selling dog toys and old postcards from dead places candles and art made by computers you can buy on shirts or mugs there's a lady waving flames like ribbons from her knuckles passing smells of foods I used to love in a scarf somebody made me that I’ve never worn offstage join the queue for something warm a prop to hold or make me drowsy a ticket to permission for eavesdroping on the tourists or dj duk duk’s silent disco under fairy lights like Christmas with the couples and the wine I dip my tongue in by another tarot reader

and watch the adults in the igloo

dance and buy the imitation of some kitsch game we’re all outgrowing on the uphill hike to hell I drift within the stream make myself invisible in my scarf on my phone behind cinnamon and steam ears open for nothing at all the silver angel sways on stilts I stop and watch her pose for children’s photos while the sirens sing in spanish drawing cameras from the bar casting curses on the city I should know a little better spinning on my heels

I track the way home on my phone

modern leper of the year 

playing hide and seek alone