INDENTURED SERVITUDE

by MATTHEW SAVOCA

there are pictures of you that i'm not in.
you look at them and laugh and i lie on the floor,
far from you.
fast-forward. or rewind.
you come home smelling like scorched engine oil
day after day
and i'm supposed to believe you when you say you belong to the green party.
impossible.
unless you mean it literally. like they own you. caught you eating apples from the testing tree. now you're some kind of indentured servant.
gosh, i haven't heard that term since 7th grade social studies. humorous if i think about how i spend my time now:

all day long down in immigrant square
with the others.