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.