In a City Far From Home

I work the night shift and walk home
through empty streets
cars scarcely passing by,
eyes peering from behind windshields.
I clean, vacuum, behind closed doors.
I travel home in darkness,
by cover of night,
walking, running,
riding on a ten-speed bike from a thrift store sale.
I walk home,
scared of bushes and shadows cast by refuge bins
that lay differently each night as I run by.
Noises provoke ice cold sweat to
drip crookedly down my arm.
I work the night shift
hiding from immigration
and cold staring eyes
in this city that castigates me like an unwanted orphan
and hides me in its darkness.