Persecution

I was mooching around outside,

sort of idly, when I felt I was being

watched. Like these detestable eyes

were upon me. I can’t be certain

it’s the thick-set offender, but

my heart and head tell me it’s so.

I fear the cycle of persecution will start

anew. Out of frustrated anger, I kick

the kerb and stub my toe. I must go

inside and share this. Mother will have

a hysterical meltdown. I know she felt

assured this couldn’t happen

in her perfect leafy suburb.

I am afraid our feral intruder

has caught the scent. That he plans

to clamp his jaws over our lives.

That he shall take pleasure doing it.

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