Alley
sure footfalls one in front of the other
are they too wide, two narrow? am I walking on the line or framing it?
we draw lines in our head and walk upon them
that feeling when you can’t avoid the line
you have to follow them on the sidewalk
hop over the cracks
it’s something you have to do, you just have to
backpack thumping incessantly
drumming like two pieces of wood
squelching like frosting on a cake—falling—off
I’m walking down a street but it feels like an alley
an alley formed by big walls on
either
side
but the walls are not buildings
like in the city
walls are trees pressing in
walls are houses, new and dark
walls are darkened windows, keeping out
walls are echoing footsteps
echoing and lost
in the padding of the forest
walls are pillars, new asphalt
walls are dim colors
the sun is dimming, I hear no sound except by feet
and my backpack
the rhythm of my feet is interrupted
I turn around sharply
where am I to go?
back down the alley
the footsteps were interrupted but only briefly
now they return to the pattern again
but it’s broken
click clack click clack (forward)
clack click clack click (backward)
I’m walking backwards with my head facing in the wrong direction
the coating of my tongue is bitter and tastes like sea salt
though I walk in a forest
it tastes like fear
it tastes like coatings of oil-slicked hair
it tastes like anti-wild fire posters you see now stuck about each house
‘Smokey wants you’
Smokey wants me to what?
all the dark houses and all the dark trees are wallpapered with posters
of brown bears in hats carrying shovels and wearing belts
‘Smokey wants YOU’
what does he want me for?
I’m walking backwards with my head facing in the wrong direction
‘SMOKEY WANTS YOU’
I hear rustling behind me but my head is facing
in the wrong direction
Smokey is coming out of the posters to my left
I see his shadow with two little rounded ears before I see the rest of him
he’s big as a grizzly but walks like a man
on two hind feet
why look at me you disgusting beast? I’ll throw you in the trash
detach you from my eyes by pulling
like leeches from my calves in the muddy water
you’re following me down the richest alley
my eyes cannot keep off of you
because I’m facing in the wrong direction
it dawns on me I’m being chased
should I be afraid? why do we have to learn lessons
of what to do when large figures follow us in the dark
it’s like a city this alleyway
I always wonder why they don’t cry for help to save themselves
but it’s so deadly quiet
there’s no one else here
‘help me’ weakly mumbles my mind
CLACK CLICK shout my soles as they beat the asphalt, then the hardwood steps
throwing off my backpack to take two strips of tape
making an X on the door, shattering the glass, reaching in and turning the knob
Smokey’s footfalls make no sound they’re no footsteps at all
do paws my footstep sounds?
do bears who walk on two legs have human feet?
this house is strange it’s made all of dark wood almost black but not quite
spiral staircases taken two at a time
Smokey breaks down the door
Smokey take steps three out of time not of speed but of size
his hair is oily and slicked back it’s deep brown his whiskers are out of my sight
all I can hear is his breath
all I can hear is my own melding with his
deep rakish scent of old blood and breath
at the top of the spiral staircase there is only a room
surrounded on every side by glass
glass windows, glass panes, glass walls, glass wood, glass glass glass
there’s not another room it’s strangely bare no place to lie down no place to hide
I hear his steps because I’m facing in the wrong direction
when you’re facing the wrong direction on spiral stairs
you go down and not up
I’m surrounded by glass and the sound of oil gets closer
I’m in a spinning room all glass and footsteps on oil slosh up the hardwood
the windows are covered in oil and are slick with rainbows
tinting the trees the alley street is bursting with color
Smokey takes the last step to the top
I break the glass and leap into the alley
