Of Mice and Men
Which way do I go, up through the gloaming of despair,
boldly across the zebra walkway, out in the open?
Or skitter along the corners, leaning under the shadows,
melting into the lamppost obscurity?
Hidden from a burning hate that hunts all night,
the weak scurry silently while rugged sinew subdues.
Jarring the motionless dirty mote, crunching gravel,
the adrenalin peaks with a bumped pallet.
Freeze, until all is settled, swallow my breath,
tiptoe past grim unrest, thrust into a bleak cast.
Almost there, the haze falters with a switch,
sprinting, leaping, run, run, not there.
Distorting the last moment, looking back,
stumbling into the dim, smacked by a wall.
A beer can flee’s with an echo, alerting the hunger,
the stalker closes in, the trap bitterly forecast.
Around a lopsided corner, falling brick crumbled dry,
a bright rainbow of reflected grease, mocking my digression.
Splashing through a relief of puddled disdain,
nose twitching, I reach the dumpster of desire.