We trade cookies over the divider
Above our heads, they screen movies
The Aristocats
Toy Story
The Burning of Berlin
Sometimes I see my face
We’re kept here
Prize rats
We’re like cousins
Shipmates down to hell
The bosun
A former iceworker
Has lost the ability to speak
He waves his hands and points at the screen
Anita has made Spanish rice
With extra tomato
It tastes like cream
Strapped over our ears
The music of prophecy