Sidwalks

On the cracked sidewalks of my mind

there’s a question dressed in rags

that begs an answer. 

Every day I pass by, ignoring its tin can

rattle, the pungent smell, need for bread,

water and a roof. 

The question does not want money

only opportunity.  I choose to mute it

with  nonsensical chatter

television, chaos of work, or a bottle

of fine French wine.  In the moments

before sleep I hear it and know

the question will follow me down

into the lucidness of dreams.  There is fear

in listening

to something that howls for freedom.

An animal trapped will chew off its own limb

to gain it.  The answer is simple, the journey –

harsh.  Tomorrow I may stop

realize the sound of my own footsteps

fleeing this earthly trap clear in the knowledge

that survival

with one limb less

will have never felt so good.