From Picture to Page: Not Paranoid

Took the picture last night. Wrote the poem less than eight hours ago. At least I didn't wait till daylight.

Not Paranoid

They really are
after you

to get back
to the house

and die
at last.

To be sure,
the microwave

in the street
is a bomb,

The red light
targets you.

Keep moving
in swerves.

You might
make it back

just as
they're asleep

They'll forget
till next Sunday.