Poetry

A way to kill her: painless or not

Where the wall meets the pane
No one can explain
The crack running down the side
We’ve all just lied.

Send the children off to bed
Before everyone’s dead,
Before the virus meets your head.
This is what you dread:

Friends become your foes.
You’re just another Jane Doe.
Killed, dropped down
To the undertow.

-HRG

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