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| picture credit: https://fineartamerica.com/featured/locked-door-jill-battaglia.html |
Pacing the halls like a wild
animal, caged,
restlessly looking, smelling,
touching here, then there,
there’s a pattern on the carpets
where his footsteps pass routinely,
habitually, compulsively,
the windows are steamed up with
pent-up rage,
a thick mould growing on this
side of the door to freedom,
he prefers to stay and fuss and
ruminate and deliberate
the same stale understanding had
yesterday,
and here he’ll stay until he
stays lost in the mist of isolation.
I have lived in this small 12 unit condo building for 5 years now, friend Shadow … And I still don't know any of my neighbours, except 1 ... kind of … There is just too many break-ins, needles and drugs, homeless peeps seeking shelter in the door way … so everyone is quite wary and looking over their shoulder at all times … I do not know how many times I have reassured/ bribed my safety with the homeless by handing out sandwiches and cigarettes. But then there is always newcomers, that carry knives while hi … and then there is always gangs fighting each other … so after much deliberation and rumination I decided to be as isolated as possible … and yes, I carry bear spray for just in case … smiles … Much love, cat.
ReplyDeleteSteamed with pent up rage - not that's some hot rage.
ReplyDeleteCharlee: "When we encounter a locked door, we sit outside it and meow for a while."
ReplyDeleteChaplin: "Usually that makes it open eventually."