Blindside – A poem.

When cars are used as weapons,
do you see your naked reflection in the rear view
mirror, or are you astonished—
deflecting off the fender.

Are you the people on the sidewalk,
standing with signs or bricks?
Their hands divide like houses—
listen to what they shout,
but read their eyes and their lips.
They whisper something different.

You are the white sheets
that hang over windows and eyes.
So you can pretend to be blind.

You are the screams of a child
lost in the crowd on a street that has become
a civil war.

You are the noose—
tight around your neck with fingers
clutching useless at your
side. A sign that mutters something.
It doesn’t matter anymore.

When you stop—
will you ever—
are you on your knees? Begging?
Or are you on your feet.
Threatening.

JKolasch

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