I peer around the
treacherous corners
for the first shadow
of trouble; a sudden darkening;
my heart quickens;
It was another.
Every nerve, every
plastic synapse, moulded
by fear, that claymaker,
into a well oiled gear
tuned to the danger
I deal with everyday
The predator’s eyes, forward,
to better hunt my predator;
to flee, for there is no fight
against the links of society.
the voice from afar! my chest thrums
to the beat of anxiety; the voice
raises its voice, and I fear
what is to follow