caged
by J. Meredith Sebra
bars, fences,
cages everywhere.
the schools
the stores
the library
the zoo...
all encased
in steel mesh warehouses
that none of us bother to see.
but if you look hard
you'll see them
rusting in the rain,
staining the sidewalks,
and the manicured lawns.
we travel in them,
carrying them with us
like American gladiators,
rolling along the alleys.
we pretend we're free
while we search for the latch.
the wires are thin,
enough to let in the sun,
the rain and wind,
just enough
to allow the puppeteer's strings
to remain intact,
controlling us
sheltering us
saving our souls.
but when the fragile strings
finally rot away
and drop us to the ground,
who will we ask
to pick us back up?
ourselves,
our neighbors,
or our captors?
