Pass The Tape

I tape my fears as post its

inside a tool box labeled first aid,

it can’t be locked and is haunted.

Then I pour syrup over it when no one is looking

so I have an excuse to not open it

even though the phobias fly out into the air

and soar around my head like vultures.

 

Still inside that box I hide the plans to a bomb shelter,

which will never get constructed,

have a counterfeit order form

to prove I did actually try to prepare,

just seemed pointless to actually erect that space

because the news broadcasts peace,

even though in the background

there is always the sounds of explosions.

 

Calendars faithfully fed into a paper shredder

destroys evidence of my resolutions,

as long as nobody reminds

words I spoke in a panic

when I thought I was dying

from reading the ingredients

on a can of hot fudge.

 

My fingers lay idle in silence,

they never move when the ground shake,

don’t wiggle if a bag of gold

exists within my grasp,

unless something terrifies,

puts at risk my existence

then I will to survive,

not to gain, but to avoid loss.

 

For if there were no enemies,

not a disease to dread,

wouldn’t ever try and build,

be content in my bed.

 

Action is the reaction of worry,

when winning kills any assassins,

though we mutter the musings of greed’s stratagems

the whole time it is danger

that ultimately drives us out of lethargy’s pit.