they keep you fenced in
on the corner of our block where the kids
would throw you birds,
or sometimes small dogs--
late at night, i hear you rattling
your chains,
groaning into darkness,
alone, aware, restless.
every morning when i pass, i peer through slits
to meet your good eye,
and i wonder what it'll take for you to die,
to sprout new life from the ground--
did you ever have a family,
and do they search for you now?
i sometimes think i could love you if it wouldn't hurt,
or what one loose screw could mean for freedom,
but our conversations would be worthless,
just like they always were.
No comments:
Post a Comment