...no longer in service


Half of a brick bouce-rattled in
a rusted, red wagon's bed,
pulled by a small, serious, brown haired, blue eyed,
scruffy panted traveling child
who looked me straight in the eye and said,
"You lose your blood or lose your air...
and you die, mister."
Anticipating hesitation to respond,
he watched me as he tugged away his rolling treasure
down the sidewalk,
at intervals, glancing back
until he turned the corner, rumbled out of sight.
And so it is as simple as that,
when we silently, subtly shun relationships,
fail to respond, avoid conversation and
the sight of other's pain or joy;
find peace in our loneliness
and too much comfort in our isolation.
For in so doing, tourniquets twist around our hearts
and slowly numbed to other's voices,
we stifle cries from our own throats,
whispery pleas for rescue
from a darkness of our choosing because,
"You lose your blood or lose your air...
and you die, mister."

Copyright (c) 2007 Gary Brown