by Nick Gisburne
She gambles on the turns she needs to take
Appalled she never thought to steal a map
Her guide, a skeevy monkey man, a snake
Transports her to the city’s edge, the Gap
Where scabs and scum are fighting to come in
And vicious border bullies force them out
She finds a freak, a go-between, to spin
A story to the Stewards, the devout
A filthy, crowded customs point extorts
A payment she produces without shame
The justice here repudiates the courts
It never asks her purpose, or her name
Released to walk the toxic, poisoned plains
She leaves, to find the truth of what remains
