Volley into Reverie

Prone in the concrete courtyard

Focused on nature’s absorption

Each molecule of sunlight

Every breath of non-recirculated air

Intent, however ineffectively

On blocking out the incessant

Murmuring cadence of voices

Poking cattle-prods against her.

Her name, raised in summons

Emanates from row’s end

(Orange clad cheese-puffs half-baked)

Pierces efforts at peaceful reverie.

Request, from quarter least familiar

Lobbed nonchalantly

Masquerading normative

“Will you be my jail mom?”

Nonplussed, though now accustomed to

Smoke bombs, hand grenades & flying shrapnel

She fields the serve, volleys back

Ascertains duties, job description

Position defined vaguely,

Supplicant desirous of a listening ear

(Check, decades’ experience)

Response to mom appellation

(Check, second nature, near automatic)

Detecting no land mines, booby traps

Unceremoniously, she acquiesces

Muses, half-heartedly

When the Queen of Hearts

Will declare, imperiously

“Off with her head!”

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