Tired, trying to move on the air
drugged by lavender vodka
and the inhabitants
tearing them down.
I can’t live with all of you.
Your multi-lensed eyes
scared of water-bag ghosts,
making your imprint in the hummus,
your off-spring in the morning grounds.
They keep coming.
I blame the rats but you swarm
in drunken lavender vodka rhythm
over our heads.
Typhoid fever, salmonella, tuberculosis.
In some cases, death.
Round and round, back and forth
over every light,
over every window.