My bubble doesn’t trouble
me. It’s clear as smutty blue glass.
It keeps me cool, and I’m doubly
safe inside its gelatin grasp.
Out there is where dry misfits slip
by unaware. Whetly I watch
them, and most fittingly my lips
I press against its oily splotched
membrane. What they dare to
do or not isn’t troubling either.
I’ve got this bubble to
maintain, and the air’s not free here.