Wordle #277

277

They turn their backs as I enter
faces joined, conversation piecemeal.
I think they mean to hurt me
and not wholly in the anatomical sense.
I fear only my bastard reflexes.
Though they do not recognize me
I understand them to be “human”.

I search for light behind the red door
in the patterns and paraphernalia
of their inarticulate chatter.
Sometimes the most we can
hope for is to be forgotten.
I brush the residue
of their horizontal gazes
from my psychic variables.

I wake up dead in a thicket of shadows.
Screeching and heaving I reload,
another file, another serum, another net to plait.
My heart is callused with frustration
and I think it means to hurt me.
I too am “human”
though I would like to refute that designation.

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5 responses to “Wordle #277

  1. I had a real physical sense of the presence here – of people, of walking into a situation and being keenly away and uncomfortable – your choices of words and phrases, so well spot on, it creates the unease and tension so well. And I particularly love the last stanza – this really brings it all home for me – the ending that is definitive, yet asks an unanswered question. Great piece Yves 🙂

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