they never returned, even with faces
masked, big screens, media rooms and sound
bars had saved them from having to cram
themselves into uncomfortable seats, elbow
to elbow with strangers, potentially
dangerous, infested with deadly viruses
or worse, brandishing assault rifles,
the noisy demons in their heads begging
to be slaughtered in the bloodletting
of innocents...no, they weren’t going back.
renovations could not disinfect the crazy,
protect them from the madness, for they
had grown comfortable in their shelters,
unwilling to risk contact with deplorables, cult
crazed zombies, veins boiling with infection and hate...
it’s been years now, since these doors
were shuttered, renovations teased on
a tattered marquee, the people had long grown
weary of promises, promises impossible to keep
NaPoWriMo2021 - Day 4 Challenge: Select a photograph from the perpetually disconcerting @SpaceLiminalBot, and write a poem inspired by one of these odd, in-transition spaces.
April 4, 2021