“They’re coming to get you. You’d better run & hide. They’re coming to get you.”
Teary eyed, curled into a ball, cramped in the corner behind the washing basket
Grabbed at the wrist, dragged kicking, screaming and begging to be let go
What is that glare, just out of reach, once more, stretch
cold, cold steel now in my hand.
“Put them down.”
Roles reverse, cold steel in my hand now getting warmer
grip loosening, they go pale.
It’s over, this ordeal, the worst yet to come.