Crack, a poem

They came at me all slack jawed.

Like a feast of crows with their guttural caws. 

But the bastards are all about to fall. 

On the slick tile out in the hall.

Because we all get blasted like we are an aimless rocket.

By moving too fast and snagging our pocket.

On some invisible snare that yanks it out of our own personal socket.

That place where we sit.

We think it’s safe and intact like we can’t get hit (or moved).

If there is such a place, I’ve not found it. 

Maybe the elusive safehaven is deep in the sea.

Somewhere foreign to you and me. 

A place we can’t be. 

Because we aren’t allowed to be happy and free.

We are trapped.

Living under the place where nature crapped. 

After it gave us a vicious slap. 

Such a cruel creature. 

It’s meanness is its defining feature.

It waits for us watching like it’s in the bleachers. 

And it likes to spring when life can’t get any bleaker. 

We can fight back. 

Possibly get things back on track. 

Stab  fate in the back. 

Like the callow fickle fucking finger that wags at us until we rip it out its socket with a glorious crack.