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Neighbour
5 in the morning, Why
do you keep at it? Howl-
ing and wail-ing, the wall
cries out in fear as
you press your weight
into it.
Heavy, heaved breaths
as it pulls inwards,
afraid for its cracked fate.
I sit and stare, a loaded
gun
inside the room.
Should I? Why
do I bother.
My door is kicked in
and he stood there,
a picture of red, red
vengeance. El Diablo--
is this a dream? He
is chest-bare,
nothing to hide
his eyes’ hate. I
hear his heart wind up--
inside, Memory tastes his pulse.
The wall creaks and is
curious, rises pridefully
and cowers all at once.
There are no words
to baptize hatred,
not the child I saw
beneath his skin.
It crawled, like a worm,
slithered out his heart
and up up up
into me, the croaking wall
a silent witness
to all. I sit
and stare and sin(g)
a thousand stars' choir of rage.
Copyright ©
Jordan Ankara
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