Crumbling dirt and gravel are spread all over my jeans
As I sit behind a huge rocker wider than I am tall and
Taller than I am wide, a gnarly old tree in front of me.
I’m waiting for the sound of searching footsteps to
Move far enough away that I can’t hear them moving
These people looking for me mean business and their
Business is meaner than I want to imagine and by all means
I want to stay strayed from their sight.
My chest is heaving, heavy breathing and I try to mute the
Sound so I can avoid the attention but my nerves are
Flaring as my head keeps churning from side to side.
These men (women?) chasing me have the wrong impression
The wrong idea and I should be home resting on a black couch
Instead of evading these people in black wearing sunglasses that
Hide their roaming eyes from the late morning sunshine that even
I can see cutting through the tree’s branches and leaves.
Three hundred yards off I hear a stream rushing over rocks
So I argue with myself, is the sound is the noise loud enough
Close enough to cover me if I run to it, away from their guns.
Deciding is difficult, should I hear the spanging of bullets near me
I’m sure the fear will be as much as I can bear and more, yet
Sitting in place and not moving will not be wise much longer
The wrong thing to do and yet I am paralyzed with my brain racing
Right here between a rock and a hard place, for sure.
BillSaysThis 