brick on the street.
the wind is a wall, you know,
the cars have been watching lately,
when it’s daylight,
the asphalt sticks,
the pathway is quicksand,
the trees sway and listen.

people have the faces of predators,
you can see your own,
paranoid.

why can’t you go to the cinema?
sit in a cafe alone?
they scoff and giggle,
clawed nails covering snorts of delight.

the bricked path is surely a stable one,
unease sets- moulds like
concrete with sugar in,
if the world is a cage,
you’ve carved out a smaller space.
claustrophobic? trapped?
or maybe safe, secure.
you step inside the gate
and remember,
it stopped the wind once.