subterranean
take a thick slab wall &
bury it deep underground
a tomb smothered by tombs
rat squeak reality check
is the only sound one knows
except… when they come
when they come
there’s the warning squeal
of the rusty hinge of a metal door
faint means it’s another cell
a melange of guilt & relief
tingles about one’s skin & viscera
but when the squeal is
like a plow furrow
rutting up one’s spine
they’ve come for you
By B Gourley in poem, Poetry on October 12, 2017.
