Blake City

he feels like hes not worth a pinch
not worth anything like that

he is the pinata
the slug
beat into a pulp by those flourescent rods
bleeding his syrup for the children
to kiss and eat
they rush to the carcass
they love the trail

he sweats and bake and his pores ooze
rewarded by sprinkling hard rains
a shower suns.
pink.
His own frustrated mess can't even bring itself to stand,

jelly covers their faces
and they roll in the excess
they laugh and bathe and play ball in it.
One even holds a balloon

He just wants to wait for the rain. Then he will be ok.
Then he can step outside and wash the dirt from his face and
feel ok again.
Step outside and let it hit and sink
That's when it feels fresh and clean and things grow
and he will be ok in this world