Robert Okaji: The Question is Never

Who will lock the door

or leap in front of the jacketed

bullet. Nor is it four words

born in lust and camouflaged

with piety. No one cares

if you blink or continue

breathing. No one knows

what you think. Nothing

matters. Not the pen

in her hand or your finger

on the trigger. Not the crying

and the dead and the stains

in the hallway, the man

in the street hiding behind

himself. The question

is no question, but an answer

struggling to emerge. Never

formed, never truly complete.

Copyright 2018 Robert Okaji