My safe house was my house.
Or, rather, my apartment.
We didn't go out much at night,
as we didn't want to get too close
to anyone in darkness or light.
But at home, there was no
banging of doors or windows.
A silly protocol, I poured water
outside my first floor bedroom window
to ice it up as a defense,
then, I started sleeping in the
living room anyway, here it was
warmest. If they could get through
the cold, and my barricade,
they probably deserved it.
That's right. The heat worked.
Electricity, internet, it all
seemed to work, despite
or because the lack of anyone
tinkering with it. We took that
something to ponder and set it
aside for a later time.
ATM's still worked, and I still
got paid every two weeks
(with four months vacation accrued,
it was two weeks before I felt guilty
about not being at work.
The food stores, though running out
were not raided, and everyone
came in on time, thankful for a routine,
and everyone paid when they could.
Staff took IOU's within reason,
trying to allow for anything
except lottery tickets and Keno.
It worked well, that short time,
as people were sick of upheaval
to do any of it themselves.
We stayed out of the main city,
craddling the one nugget of wisdom
the radio provided through quotes
of world leaders laced with
I-Told-You-So's from the churches.
The only thing I couldn't do was
go to my Mom's. The trains
were not moving, period
I did get phone calls from her,
assurances she was all right.
Amidst gunshots. I heard more
talking to her than on my street
during the high points.
I think the suburbs, with less places
to hide than ever and more room
to drive, were more aggressive
in trying to correct their situation,
though even colder, with more snow.
I got scared as our phone time
whittled down to the time
normally used during coffee breaks.
She said take care, all right?
I said I know. And after goodbyes
and quick I love you's
I sat quiet and cold, too sick to move
from the latest cocoon
that had formed around me unseen.
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