bay laurel branches loom over head, my arms aching with
grocery bags carried eight full blocks, while emaciated filthy blond ponytail
in pants that slide down his thighs follows me right to my own back door, can’t
remember code, punching in all wrong numbers, over and over and over, and he is
closer, closer, closer, I smell his meth, his mess, his aggressive stalk, one
long blade held tight to his chest and it is my knife, from my own kitchen, I know
that knife, bones my chickens, cars race by on the other side of the tall
protective laurel bush that I pluck my bay leaves to use in my soups and stews,
no one sees, no one knows what happens on this side of the bay laurel, and his
stink is on me and I open my mouth to nothing coming out and punch numbers,
punch numbers, arms weak with heavy bags hanging from crooks in elbows,
sagging, dropping, eggs, orange juice, soft red grapes, push little buttons
harder, not working, fingernails breaking, mouth, throat, lungs not working, wake up,
wake up, wake up from this nightmare...........haunts me. haunts me, time and
time again…….
thanks for reading.......
(prose challenge - nightmare)
