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Photo by Shiva Reddy on Unsplash

The dandelion cracks
the gray concrete.
The thin-as-a-rail man
(I am that man)
whispers: gracias, arigato, merci
to the sun-drenched dandelion.
A goose-stepping hack observes
my happiness and
stomps the dandelion.

Yellow stains, invisible cuts,
invisible ink — the thin man
never could outrun the
skeletons. Solo una sombra
(only a shadow), I am more
than a ghost whispering
a prayer and a warning to
the next dandelion.

Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Global Forum Online has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.

Soy Ink is a writer incarcerated in Colorado. He writes under a pen name.