NaPoWriMo, Day Twenty-Five, Poem Sixteen

Number

Beware
own anthems
winning team.

Your raised fist
holds a roll
of coins

you will just
use for
laundry.

You have all
learned to applaud
each other.

with no
advantage
of listening.

your salutes
start losing
their snap.

The secret
handshakes
grow lazy.

While you
drink for free
too fast.

The alley where
your best photos
were taken

has been
reclaimed
by chance

relinquished
by your
absent minds.

Be careful.
We're desperate
hungry enough

to invite you.