Third Floor Exit

The drywall is too thin for that kid's grief.

It comes through the outlet, a jagged, wet sound

that makes me crave a moment of relief,

so I climb through the window to higher ground.

The iron is cold and it groans under my weight,

a skeleton bolted to the side of the brick.

I stand on the grating, staring at the gate,

feeling the city air grow heavy and thick.

My sneakers are covered in orange, dry flakes,

rust like dead skin shedding off the bars.

One bad weld is all it ever really takes

to drop a person down below the stars.