Comfort of Walls

Sebastian Socorro
Literature Editor

Amazing how I can still hate               people from the comfort of my home

Distracting that I can still hear            echoes of outside beyond windows

Don’t you find it interesting                how we insist on existing?

Isn’t it pointless, futile,                        to pretend we don’t die?

Of course that’s really silly                  we’re very much alive and well
In this Decameron shelter,                   picture of humane comedy

I’d invite my friends                            to my imminent birthday

Where we sing and jaunt                     to distant danse macabre

No use for dressing, or sleeping         nothing due and nothing done

Harvesting old memories                    with a sickle of leather

Monotone tones in tune                       speaking honestly

Washing hands like                              bloody bodies found in trenches

Exercising to disguise our                   vulnerable bones

I still see old men walking                  unaware of the clarion call

Shifting past my window                    probably soon to fall

They say it’s raining                            I can barely tell

Maybe one day I’ll leave                    lay down on the asphalt

Count my lucky stars                           and not move at all

Originally Published on Vol.49 Issue 13 on April 15th, 2020