What Then

What Then

by Anonymous

If he'd remained behind,

like she asked him to.

He tokes alone, oily smoke compressed in his lungs and spent in a draconic wind warm through his sinuses

The ocean forbidding black for miles, cloying cloud cover smothering low with acidic humidity, he sits and watches and thinks to himself

indian style atop the edge of a skyscraper he has no right to occupy, through too many locked doors

quiet

brow hooded and knuckles bent to scruffy chin, city light an industrial smear of orange and bruise brown, jet liners coasting over a kingdom that doesn't belong to him

yet.