We came back home
spent of our death-scene
cliches from our mouth,
failure written
in footprints behind us.
We raced scenarios:
What if they stay till it thaws?
What if they don't rot enough?
Our curfews got earlier.
The broken hipster roomed with me
claiming the need for sleep
but took first watch anyway.
Our safety on a time limit,
we couldn't stay anymore.
Our warmest clothing
and sharpest edges
We'd move forward like
Spartans, cleaning behind us
until the last point,
taking back our sense
of security.
I called Mom one last time
before the lines were
finally lost.
Already miles away,
her voice
only sounded fainter
as I left the steps
to my apartment
and children started off
five paces behind
fathers with bats
the occassional gun
slinged for final exit
instead of roaring charge.
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