stonepicnicking_okapi

stupid motel fridge by okapi

I hear it. Doubt. Wait. Know. My refuge
Is anything but. It has found me.
The monster I have been running from
Is right here. In the room. With me. Now.
I listen. I hone in, creeping nearer,
Like one of those dull, topless slasher girls
Ineffably drawn to her doom.
The door resists at first, then rips
Like silver duct tape torn from the mouth
Of a hostage. Confirmed, justified,
fear and dread. T/here. Water where water should not be.
Falling. In drops. In wet rhythm.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

I can’t find a plug to yank.
I won’t invite a stranger
Into this. I know better. The dial
Clicks to clacks. Coolest. Off. Wait. Watch. Count.
Like Kabir’s moon and sun.
Then I am rolling terry cloth
To mop up the flood suspended on glass
And deaden the sound. Dead.en.sound.
I go back to bed. I get up
Again. Check. Go back. Listen
For noise I’ve made sure I won’t hear
Like the last girl standing before the credits roll.