Shadow

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It might beckon to you on the street,

Grinning, leering, gnashing and clap you loudly on the shoulder,

As someone who has greeted your family before.

Or if you’ve retreated indoors, it might tap on your apartment door,

Knocking gingerly before hammering, kicking, howling at you to let it in.

Whatever happens, it won’t let you drown.

Instead fill your lungs to bursting point, pull you to surface,

And push you back into the saline oblivion.

And you, like a gaping fish, strangled in the nets of a trawler,

Will struggle, writhing wildly on the deck,

Waiting for someone to stamp on the back of your neck,

And release you of your misery.