“Don’t worry, it’s personal,”
The two owners tell me
Locked up in their office
Getting the third degree
Personal?
Maybe the way a cold steel blade is
Eased between my ribs,
Or the chilly tip of a 45
Pressed again my forehead
Personal?
While neither of these two
Will push the blade or pull the trigger,
I already know who wants to
And might do so sooner or later,
Even if these two show mercy
And won’t yet fire me,
Condemning me perhaps to worse
Continued exile
When I’m aching to come in from the cold,
I barely breathe as I see their faces,
His glare telling me he wish it was different,
Hers full of that belligerent mercy,
As if she fully understands
How a man like me can get caught up
In a messy matter like this,
Reading my wild hormones as if tea leaves
Warning me with her stare
To beware, to avoid getting myself there
Again, as if I could help it,
When we all know I can’t.
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