Home Alone

The trees scream at the edge of the lawn.

The doors are all locked from the inside, outside

The yards are covered in gasoline.

A silent patience.

The mailbox is always full

of hope for pieces of good news.

The house is empty, no one's coming home.

The sound of footsteps from upstairs 

Slowly trace through the rooms.

A light shines through a window down the street

And a familiar silhouette breaks from the dark.

I smile in admiration

Of such an act of rebellion.

But only for a moment

Before it is reabsorbed.

The street returns to its darkened state,

And the world falls back into place.

So I lie down and close my eyes

And try to imagine.