“Disconnected”
my Bluetooth headphones
blasted & lambasted my ear holes
as I threw away my daily trash—

flip flopped, slightly tipsy
from tequila as I shrunk
little by little, as I followed
the path to the garbage room,
nimbly gesturing like a common
NYC rat, who was skipping out
from the subway for a while.

My 9th floor now looks like a maze;
the favorite cheese is now hidden from view,
the blues have settled
deep into my bones—

the other rats are safe
from sickness
inside their homes.

“Connecting,”
my headphones announce gleefully;
I chirp back: “Yes!”
as I enter my haven,
still safe from any known infection—