detour
i have a keychain on my house key that says “escape hatch”
i’m not sure whether it means going through the door or out of it
whether or not my humorous undertones are actually refractions
with holes in the center or turned upside down
i walk home from school every day with my blue adidas backpack
take pictures of carved in sidewalks, pick spring flowers
make my way home through this overgrown town.
sometimes i stop at the seventies strip mall with the discount stores
eat licorice while walking down the hill;
seven auto body shops in parallel lines
escape’s second definition is: to be failed to be noticed or remembered by
i wonder if the crossing guard has seen me as many times as i’ve seen him