Poem

Lockdown

In a lockdown

There’s not enough room

For a showdown.

We retreat to quiet homes

After sundown.

Stare at screens

Press your hands

Against opposite walls.

Pace the narrow halls

While the sound 

Of an unwatched TV

Haunts the next room.

I want to strip down

And wander the night alone,

Step on sharp stones,

Let the thorns slash my skin,

Come what may.

Let me be the prey

Of the hunters

Of the wood.

I hear everything.

The moon strikes silver.

The smell of fear.

It’s good.

It’s good

To 

Be 

Here

6/28/20