Real World. Poem by Kim Dang

A busted bubble slain on the floor besides me;
I’ve crawled out for air; I could’ve sworn I torn through its membrane.
Is this twenty percent the real oxygen I’m breathing?
I’m left to craft something out from everything.
In this next reality, I’m choking from the smog.
I’m confronted by peers of a more varied breed.
It’s no longer Kansas, disillusioned Dorothy.
There will be less striving for heart and brain.
There will be less delayed gratification you’ve witnessed
Because they all want the next best thing.
I’m grappling for my values,
I have to -
I have to hang on to my virtues.