like playground fingers crossed
a secret.
this is not my degree
this is not my family
my child
she is not mine
not raised in the sun
without sweat or fear,
this is not my pavement
and this bank I do not visit.
i know the stories
that built the railroad
the sadness loss and swept
i know the switch back snake
of this economy, dusting away footprints.
i do not belong,
but I am here
dressed in plain clothes,
a spy for a society of one
an audience
that applauds my secret dance
that approves my conformity.
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