Opposite Land
The taxi was late or maybe I was early. Hard to tell anymore. The bench was cold through my coat. Cars passed like they had somewhere real to go.
In opposite land, they say things are improving while everything around me quietly gets worse. They say speaking is freedom but nobody says what they see. They say protection while building cages you can’t touch but feel around your throat. They say the past didn’t happen the way you remember it.
They say your eyes are wrong.
A man across the road dug through a garbage bin like he’d lost something precious. Nobody stopped. Nobody looked. Words don’t mean anything now. They just point wherever power tells them to point.
I kept waiting for the taxi.
The bus came instead.
That felt about right.