Poem: Vigilante Feedback
It could have been stigmata
or just simple lack of sleep
but I found it in a dictionary–
a different kind of justice,
watching me when I forgot to look.
Talk of vinyl siding and spare rooms
made my eyes throb and I couldn’t live
in a world full of porches, so
I made a choice and my ears rang
from somewhere else;
chosen, I kneeled down
to shattered glass–
some guardian’s answer to a question
I’d just decided not to ask.