Almost midnight,
when my shift ends…
and in walks a thief
at this dark hour.

But I’m no prophet,
no vessel,
though I speak with a seraph
every night at this station,
and it beats its blinding wings…
each eye gazing at lowly me.

{This poem is based on a prompt from the poetry community dVerse:
Create a 44 word poem (called a quadrille) using the word “eye”.}

The voice is ancient and familiar,
belonging to school days,
bouncing off the walls of the gym
like end-of-day announcements
from the principal,
or the bright ping
of a red, rubber four-square ball
entering your zone
when you’re looking the other way.

{Almost a quadrille. I’m counting the hyphenated words as a single word. I knowww …that’s breaking the rules a little, but it’s a poem not algebra, so I hope I’m forgiven. Inspired by a fun prompt from dVerse.}