Shotgun House
21 September 2005
You could run from the front door
to the back door
without hitting a door,
straight past the television,
past my bed, past the ice box,
past the room where Uncle died,
past the room where great grandmother died,
through the backdoor with the hole
large enough for the barrel of a gun,
and keep running to the fields,
dodging bumblebees, flying
barefoot down the narrow dirt path
between sugar peas, snap peas and greens,
and the illusion of freedom,
the day dream of an eight year old.
© 2005, Satya J. Gabriel