ex-girlfriends crowd up behind each unlocked door
humming a judgment that builds to a roar
like alarm clocks that find me waking inside a small cardboard box
forcing the chicken out of a self-proclaimed fox

sidewalks, skirts, heels, and traffic lights
give the feet a rough guide as to the limits of flight
and when i wrap myself out of instinct in two warm female arms
i know the box waits to contain me, to keep me unharmed