Stranded

The trio gathered around the tree.
Brittle arms, cramping legs.
Within the grid, a step outside.
Makes for news, science class lectures.

The house was not so far.
Of a family name, everywhere.
Streets, the farm, and grocery stores.
Papers blotted with quiet faces.

Not a question, room to look.
Exit signs shall not apply.
Squeezing through a sighing fence.
Relying on nothing but word of mouth.

Someplace hides the safe spot.
A house on the edge, passably good.
An entryway with a doormat.
Fibers taught while colors dried.

Flashlights had given up.
Synthetics ’round ankles sealed.
They wondered of their tins and slips.
And questioned the history of reason.

The trio answered the moans of the sky.
And speculated on risk’s expense.
A sister’s nine-to-five, denied.
As boats and fish treaded blithely.

Those who claimed the aching land.
Fathers and sons in enterprise.
Made it clear that Here was theirs.
Winded brawn defiled.

Strangers out of solid work.
Fingers unseen by umbrellas.
Beards, their only lighted flare.
Seeking mercy near sharp whiskers.

Cat No. 49 of the 500 Cats Project

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