By: Myles Allen
There is a panther in the undergrowth and its name is a cool breeze from the bay
Petals blossom as a false predator, flashing their colors as a warning to the ground
New life means new killers, finding feet with which to chase down the dusk
When you walk out the door you can smell it, the growling of the grass
Freshly massacred. Sunlight slaughters the sidewalk and I sidestep along
The beach, trying to pretend like the sand feels good between my toes,
Pretending to be content.
That is what the sun
Is supposed to bring:
Relief. A strained sigh.
But when I see light bounce
From the water like fleas,
I shudder to feel its burn.