The paces quicken; Lori chatter
down the phone as time expands and collapses
in a moment of sirens and panic and onlookers who don’t know how to react.
Of course, it’s all in your head
as you raise your hands in surrender
to that great barrier:
the front door, the bus, the road, the airport.
Rubbing shoulders, no air, no space,
condensed further than canned milk
and becoming even more jelly-like,
melting against the heat and fear
until you
scream.
And then they look at you.
Crazy.
And walk away.
Treeshallow Musings 