Under Fire

At the exact moment
you realize that you
have no choice or chance
unless you shoot back,

you will look sideways up from the floor
where you’ve flattened yourself
in order to save your own life
and see through a broken window

a single leaf on a branch.
It will be surely already dead
but have some color left in it,
red spots in dry brown perhaps

or some slight green remaining
overall, and you will surge within
and let go of your own stubborn grip
upon a semblance of being truly alive

and look around
for something, anything,
with which to fill your
suddenly freed hand.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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