A Free Verse Poem
We withdraw as we get older
Lucky to have survived exploitation,
Not into Plato’s cave
But into glass coffins with knobless doors
Where we can see the world
And not interact with it
The one that has been prepared for me
Has a single floor with no furniture
And smells of disinfectant
I lie in a middle room
With a fake fig tree in a plastic ochre pot
The wooden doors between my room
The kitchen and the bedroom
Are closed
Sometimes it is noon
Sometimes it is 3 AM
The piled green carpet is soft on my cheek
As I softly fall asleep
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