When the sun falls

And the shadows unfurl

Behind rusting bars

The heartbeats of home lie in snippets of dim blue pulsing.

Across their peeling adobe,

The wind just trots,

But inside them,

A blue screen blares:

“War
Hate
and
disaster
are
imminent
near
you.”

The next day,

When sunlight returns,

From the walls

They emerge.

Tiny creatures en masse,

Eyes reflecting the sky,

Skipping past the blare of the PSA,

They whisk out with the wind

Finding a greater bellowing in the air:

A lived experience,

A rite of ages.

Their heartbeats at play,

Only they know the world that they trot.

J.T.

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