Many years ago I had a bit of a panic while on a retreat… as a result I ended up setting off the burglar alarm, waking up 50 or so other attendees at about 1-o-clock in the morning. A day later I wrote this.
It only took me a further 4 years to figure out that actual running (as opposed to figuratively running) is rather a good lark…
I’m not sure whether it qualifies as prose or verse. Or either, for that matter.
Maybe it’s a monologue?
It’d be easy to run right now
I bet I could outrun them
Or find a hiding place
Somewhere alone and in the dark
I could wait there till they stop looking for me
My self-pity and I would feel safe there
In one way or another it’s what I’ve always done
Most comfortable near the door,
with a clear exit in mind
Or in the hiding places of the little niches I’ve carved out
Where the comfort of a well-worn mask
means I don’t have to fake a smile
Always running
Always looking for hiding places
But I never outran my father
And he’s never stopped looking for me
When he finds me he never bursts in
But somehow I find him next to me
Smiling at my scowls almost playfully, infuriatingly
Though I know he’s deathly serious
Today I’m sensing something new
Something new inside myself
Like maybe, this time, I won’t run
Or, if I do, I’ll run with him
Of course, people might see me
But this time, they’ll see him with me
And he looks so proud.
Don Lowe 