She caught him twice last week
shitting in the yard / so she pretends
nobody is home.

“Can I kiss your mouth?”
He taunts behind the closed door.

The stench of desperation and
unpaid utilities is not her problem

Town says

he burns
the wooden house for warmth.
Exotic coloured flames say
he incinerates other treasures.
Foraged junk and heaps.

The street is always
empty. Full of rules but
no enforcers and now
is not the time.


she might need an ally.
When it’s her turn to
shit in the yard.

© SF Jones, 2014

Dystopia is a poetic worldbuilding project. Each day for the next week, I will post a poem that exposes the characteristics of a fictional setting. The pieces will showcase the physical conditions and/or the emotions and interactions of the people who live there. Let your imagination run wild; I will do the same.

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