It’s impossible to be sure
just what this is.
It feels like decay,
like drought.

Walking tonight
like an angry dog
on a very long leash.

Ready to lunge or
snap at the nearest
passerby.

Willing myself to
expel some of the
bile, the filth,
the wretchedness
into the ether.

Blues like an
anvil between
the shoulders.

It waits in the shadows
for the next opportunity.
*
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPulications; 2016