Prose Portland

I, a simple shopkeeper

selling my wares

in a brick and mortar storefront

bought and paid for with sweat and tears

but now

you come

each night

and burn me down

loot my wares

and call me names for my existence.

You, who come in numbers too great to fight

come to destroy even when there is nothing left

you can take from me

demanding too my silence

taking also

my right

to scream

bloody murder.