the skatepark is anchored
by shipping containers
washed ashore
gunmetal beasts
that sleep through this sliver
of sunrise
even the fog
is too lazy
to lift
now
forget your timecard
your tools your steel
toe boots won’t miss you
the mouths that you feed
won’t starve
frontside 180
over the hip
shake off the ache
of yesterday’s dollar
there’s less than an hour
before today’s
