Ryan Cox
school buses lined up in a row to be soon evacuated.
in the wake of the emergency, sirens blare
only telling us we must run.
on walls in storage closets there are pictureless memories
forgone long ago, now limply awaiting their disposal.
at times i see what they once represented, but i look away before they make an impression.
the regional manager
denying any further information to bartering custodians
gestures crassly towards the supply cupboard.
in the breadline,
you can only think of all the times you turned away
from those in need.
when i get home
i press my ear against the speaker trying to make out voices in the radio silence.