The Walk

THE WALK Hiding in house like a house mouse, decided on departure from my world door, to beyond and explore. A walk in fear, so death not knock nor stalk. Steps begin a shuffling stutter, and the mind in a mutter. A mental debate, still at the front gate, as confidence is building a new front fence. Feet of a cement statue, stuck on Serendipity Street, decision on direction, divided by derision, ups, downs, pondering the surrounds. Stiff like a two pronged fork, began an uphill walk. Homes appear as giant gnomes, splashed with colour and décor. Scenting a perfume, cooking roses I assume. Hearing words or were they birds, "Yellow!" again it echo and bellow, T'is a voice of mystery that cannot see. Walking now in haste, without time for waste, fretting who follow, may walk until tomorrow. Cannot hear with eyes, but ears try to visualise, a slow shuffle now a scuttle. Pants filled with ****, damn that car horn, a desperate yearn, a hurried homely return. Seven steps ventured too long, from where I belong. How sweet my front door to greet, secretly celebrating, surviving. The Walk