Slips of paper slide out of your mouth.
You laminate them beneath your tongue,
Then shoot them out when I pass by.
The shiny gliders land at your friends’ feet;
They send back papers glossed with their condescending glares.
I stare at the concrete scroll beneath my feet.
Engraved with spindly cracks and inlaid with cigarette butts,
Its rough, weathered surface holds me up.