They want us to look up
to them, always be available
to smooth the crooked creases
between their brows, tell
them nightly, cool sheets pulled
down, who is lord and king
of all that they survey. Their voices,
raised against pursed lips, put us
in our places, a single sonic boom
enough to collapse the thinning walls
we build to shield our hearts' too
-quick beatings from pricked up ears.
They count on strength in numbers,
spit-blackened boots and push-button
armored personnel. We bide time's
hand sure on own own, content
to wait until the palace dogs have
stretched and yawned.
© 2012 Maureen E. Doallas
This poem is my response to today's photo prompt at Magpie Tales.
Write your own poem or flash fiction response to the prompt, using the image provided, then go here to add your own link and to read and comment on the other participants' contributions.