The Merge

You and I

Walk a darkened road; shadeless,

Dimly lit by a street lamp,

That we have yet to reach.

You from that side, along the wall.

Me from this, along the curb.

You on the right.

Me on the left.

 

I anticipate

Your fear

With mine.

The one that knots my guts,

And lumps my throat,

And sweats my palms.

The one that you and I have almost always known.

 

Your father warned you about:

The thief, the murderer, the rapist.

My father warned me about:

The cheat, the liar, the oppressor.

 

We merge under the light.

You sidestep toward the wall.

I to the street.

 

My father said never to corner a wounded animal,

And we are the most dangerous kind.

 

© J. Manuel

 

 

 

 

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