Iron
They put a power-gate across our road.
We live secure here, locked inside. We punch
the keypad numbers, the bar swings free.
And yet, one neighbor’s in a gurney-bed,
his lungs like punctured tires. He lies
among plucked feather comforters. Are we
safe or free? A phoebe flashes overhead.
What do birds care for metal barriers?
Take in sky with every breath you breathe.
Copyright © Taylor Graham | Year Posted 2011
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment