poetry by j matthew waters

seven bullets

this is not the same place it used to be

the neighborhood
the municipality
the county & the state
and all those interconnected

yes there are safe zones & hot spots
but they can flip on a dime
and then where will you be
either in the safest place imaginable
or right there in the middle of the fray

I used to call them the police
but now I’m finding myself calling them cops
like I did when I was a little kid
when we played cops & robbers
running unrestrained between houses
and through back alleyways
taking to the safety of the park
and all its beaten paths & tallest pines
doing my damndest to shake them
as they close in within earshot
suddenly emptying half their round
without even a warning

august two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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