If you look closer at the ant you burn
Through glass, you might see some frail form
Of yourself slowly dying in the heat that
Came from a matchbox marked by the past.
Did you speak to it there on the slab of cement?
Adding interrogation to outright torture,
Forcing the mirror of fear to show the
Parts that can be so easily plucked.
All the hard and heavy lifting has been done
And now Marcus must find some place
To be safe, but first he must prove he is
Who he says he is, or at least who he wishes to be.
But there's a long line of others waiting downhill,
Begging for burns with chattering teeth.
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