embassy

a crowded table in the middle of a foggy room. the wrinkled look on behind their steepled hands. let their minds wander as their counterparts speak. speak in turn. take turns until the tables turn and there’s no more discussion to be had because there’s been a dysfunction, a riot and we need to evacuate, save it, this place that should be a safe haven, it isn’t solitary it’s connected to the world and we need to treat it like it is. we can’t look on behind our steepled hands. let everyone in.

Author's Note

Inspired by oneword.com. I imagine this as a slam poem, so if you can think of it like that tell me what you think.