Dark Room – Michael Roque

August 22, 2026

Shaking a submerged print,
I develop an image of him
he no longer lives up to.

Long hair
he loved dearly
clogs shower drains across the city.

Old hangs—
now full of youth
telling jokes he doesn’t catch.

Once mates—
now strangers
making small talk when meeting by chance.

A balding shadow of a purer self
longing to belong,
he is lured by slogans.

He’s a small frame
preaching oppression,
standing empowered after too long sitting out.

Squinting to see an old friend forming under red light—
I wonder, could he have been saved?