Lost

By Bliss Bonner

“...and I don’ wanna lose myself and I see people that lose themselves ev’ry day,” 

says the woman in the black jacket. 

Brick buildings,

windows cracked,

race past outside the train. 

By the window, a man with a hat talks on the phone. 

In the tunnel, “Can you hear me?”

“Hello?” 

“Can you hear me?”

“Hello?” 

No response.

We emerge back into the light, 

but he doesn’t pick up his phone again. 

He just stares out the window. 

Out the window, under bridges

dull old paint flashes,

bubble words unreadable. 

On every street, there’s lines of houses.

Brick with white trim. 

Brick with white trim. 

Brick with black trim. 

Brick with white trim. 

Concrete. 

Peeling wood. 

Faded signs. 

Earlier, a black billboard. White block letters read, “Make your own labels. Peel off the rest.” 

Leaves peel off the trees.

Paint peels off the storefronts. 

Winding streets peel away from the train tracks, 

blurring as we fly past, 

telephone poles like a ship’s mast.

A kid drove a toy Barbie car down to the tracks

left it there on that hill. 

Lost. 

I don’t wanna lose myself. Can you hear me?

Make your own labels.