Foggy Bottom
Foggy Bottom . . .
and top, full surround,
without sound.
Socked In, in pilot lingo,
moving blind, no visible exit;
one choice; move forward.
Headlights barely sliced through
the thick, grey mantle.
Cocooned in quiet death;
chills rippled backbones,
bumps nippled bare arms.
Ellery Queen's
sinister villain
lurked,
angled beyond our view.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
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