Derek lives in a house- not a home, though,
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nothing that could ever be called a home.
It has only one other inhabitant: a short,
middle-aged man whom he barely knows or recognizes,
who sleeps a great deal but is deadly when awake.
And Derek, misreading his mental schedule,
accidentally stumbles into the slurs and violence
that he works so hard to avoid.
Overwhelmed, he flees into the street
with his mind failing, a mind kept alive by a force
that we can only feel.
Derek keeps hope alive.
He dreams of a white city with golden walls,
stories his mother used to tell him as a child.
Thunder is booming through the air, the streets
of Brooklyn are cold and drenched.
Dragging his bruised body through the flooded streets,
he wears a smile through his tears.
He still dreams of a King, a castle in the sky
where he may one day live.
Someday, I'll write a story about dodgeball and they'll make it into a movie.