Escape

We are distracted.
I fear, someday, we'll glance up
from our phones, from photos of
old friends, regrets, missed opportunities--
only to find there's no one left
who's ever challenged trouble.


There will be a discourse, we
will have memes about it, asking when
that last person died, who
(when Life inevitably dealt
a shattering blow)
put up her arms, hit back,
attacked: fierce with bloodlust, shrieking
for her rights, her freedom, her
way of life.


Because the rest of us chose
other paths. We felt the pain
and shrank back, back,
scuttling into the dark crevice
of our phones, our memories,
our games and stories, our
artwork and arrogance and
wine, our sex, our cigarettes,
back deep within the coolness
of a cave where Life could not reach.


We're often there already; only time
is left until we stay there fully:
totally escaped, where Life
can never touch us. But
then what: grief? or celebration?








Sep. 2016