Fusillade

wars are all around us.
in the small offices.
in the family room

with its advocado carpet or

out in the yard,
at the party with the Chinese lanterns
and the fondue.

a subtle sigh can do you in;
an arched brow,
the horrible now

when the earth sinks in with you in it;
and many gape jawed witnesses
taking notes behind the shrubbery for future reference or:

the upset stomach, churning

later, after the words sink in
with their hidden fangs at 3 a.m.,
their toothy smiles reinterpreted;

the sneer disguised so thinly
as a compliment;
the hidden barrage of lies

starting with one pale thread
that unravels as
you travel out of the labyrinth

and toward a few serene stars.
or dream that you are.

mary angela douglas 9 july 2016