Concrete curbs
I follow, shrinking to fit
the hollow tunnel made by
the battery of towers
from which this city
defends its right to be.
I hide inside
my coat, armoured
against the mash of bodies
clumped together yet
strictly untouched.
Release me from this quarantine.
Let the sun take off my coat
the breeze scatter my dead leaves
the trees entice my child to play
the ocean shock away the grey.
BY JEANETTE JONES
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