Traffic light strung up
Against a plastic sky—
Artificial blue—real but
Not for me,
I don't get to enjoy it.
Several hours tucked away
Inside, taunting windows
Mock—I want to stare up
At that blue; I know it's real
And I count the time
Until I can stand under it.
The traffic light signals me
To go home after it waved
My morning goodbye.
The afternoon and evening
Need to feel real, but
Sometimes I feel as
Manufactured as the traffic
Light swaying against the
Limited sky.