Pulsating light
caught in the mirror,
what sin have you?

I see your hair prickling,
your skin bleached pale,
from rich in sun’s goodness
to a shade of despair.

Your hand had the warmth of a corpse,
as if an omen, as if to say,
your fate had been decided.

Something treads through the air,
no sudden movement, eyes down,
punctuate your sentences
with a resounding sir and ma’am.

Roll down your window,
wear a pageant smile,
serve who you are on a platter.

Swiftly, heavy thuds on the road,
on either side of this quivering wagon,
figure morphing into a sentinel with
glassy eyes.

Life flashes before our eyes,
dripping as if a cold maple syrup
over a cold and stale pancake
served at a cold table in winter.
    
Was it how we trotted?
Was it how we fared?
Emptied our pockets with
wrongs we had none.

Draw no pistols,
plant no bullet that shan’t grow
and swell into chaos,
we need none of those.
We prayed.

But came,
an honorable man,
a man unlike many,
he said fear not,
the bridge ahead is closed,
an apology was issued,
for the inconvenience.

We turned away,
the night ceased chasing us,
the light faded,
we were safe.  

—e.d. maramat | erwinism