Locked Up

Locked Up


In the empty wing
Of a deserted dorm,
I pry and twist,
Trying to pick the locks
On my trunk,
On my heart,
With a paper clip
And a tack
That was lying lonely on the floor.
Because of this I am late,
Because of this I fly
Down an old cracked
And crooked brick walk,
Skirt a flailing green panic,
Tangling my legs in its confusion,
Hair an angry stream,
Striving and succeeding in
Freeing itself from its
Loose prison of wood and leather.
Because of this I am late
To my best friend’s
Graduation.