Daily Click

The cold bar, firm against my hip,

a rhythmic push, a metal grip.

Click. The sound of the gate, giving in.

Click. Another body, another skin.

Faces blurred, tired eyes,

a practiced rhythm, no surprise.

This daily loop, a worn-out track,

no turning, ever, going back.

Just forward, one more step,

into the hum, the silent debt

of morning light on concrete grey.

Another day begins to fray.