Posted by: Ron DuBour | June 19, 2014

Panic…


ann johnson-murphree

The school dance was like a garden
full of scented wallflowers, in the
distance the record player grinded
out hollow music.

Some stirrings could be found on the
smooth gym floor, the non-stirrers
glazed over eyes looked as if they
wanted to cry.

Would the spell be broken, or would
the scented wall fall asleep, or would
they at last dart for the levered doors
returning to their homes and live like
caged birds.

Then rose the coldest fear of all, silent
as if blind and dumb the feet would not
move though I wanted to run.

Gently a strong young hand pulled me to
the floor…yes, yes, yes, I was a wallflower
no more!

©2014.annjohnsonmurphree

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