“Greg, Did You See That Skinhead Glaring At Us on The Platform? Yes, Tee. I Saw Him.”

So unnaturally he appears in the distance
With a steel glow
About his head and flames
Of torture dancing in his eyes
So young for all that
hate
It makes him actually toddle when he walks
Gait a little off – like a lion cub
Searching for depth in a long since empty kingdom
We familiar animals gaze knowingly
Unwilling to feel sorry for his violent pounce
On his own pride
Now silenced by daylight
And smiling suns
The riches of wisdom have made us fat and we dare forget
hunger
He waits
Anxious for us to turn our backs
He thinks
He will eat us alive
But while our memories go wanting
We still have thorns in our sides