light

maroon is listening to Joan Jett on the floor
your mother smoking in the same room
flooding you up

leaving Chicago is like dying
everything still feels good without you
everything lasts after you finish
like dying because
you leave, the trains still run.
the red line still dried urine, feet, and fresh faces.
your red lines abandoned you like this one used to.

traffic lights here wake up and are changed
when they stop,

and i am a traffic light.

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