POETRY

Looks like you and me.
It sleeps in the bedroom
across this thin wall
and wants to break free.

We huddle for protection
in front of our young
making a circle, our eyes
not as good as used to be.

Oh, tis not right! not good
this sharp slant of tongue
this fear injected daily
just so good naturely,

this isolation from society,
this fast beat in the ear,
and the lonely violence
of sex and games and TV.

Meanwhile,
under the bright spot light,
the monster licks its gun
then joyfully begins to flee.