The Road Found Poem
Brett Lange
Something woke him
Lay listening
Raised his head slowly
Pistol in his hand
Looked down at the boy
Looked back toward the road
First of them were already coming
He reached and shook the boy
They came through the ash
Hooded heads
Canister masks
One in a biohazard suit
Strained and filthy
Slouching along with clubs
Coughing
Behind them
Diesel truck
Frozen with fear
Its all right
We have to run
Dont look back.
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