Member-only story
They Followed Me Home
Don’t make me tackle you Greco-Roman style
Sleeping naked is the highest form
of privilege. Take these clothes,
for I don’t need them until morning.
You cannot see past the switches.
No one needs to pass a code for the door.
A water tap, and twelve steps to sanctuary
at the end of a long hall. We sleep in there
with our legs curled up, sighing around
the tockless clocks. I keep a gun loaded
with spice, just in case a skinful wrestle
commences. Don’t make me tackle you
Greco-Roman style, my brother.
If they come for me with handcuffs,
I’ll ask for a shirt, something to cover up,
something with a message for the cameras.
Until then, between the blankets
I regulate temperature, I tuck my hands
beneath my chest, I freely molt again.
© Trapper Markelz 2021
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