07 June 2011


Hurry 6/7

The voice on the other end is dark, angry
                        we know you have to go to work
                        we know where you park your car
silence –

I sit expecting someone to smash in the window
beat me into the concrete floor
nothing happens, I sit for minutes that feel like hours

I listen at the door, check the peephole
I open the door and look around
There is a dry erase board on my door
in thick red lines faggot spelled out

I close the door, chain the lock
I move a chair, a desk, a lamp
in front of the door
I pick at my elbows nervously

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I call work
I am not leaving until sunrise, everyone understands
nods, goes about their business

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