THE INCOMING NINE

THE INCOMING NINE

Someone listening to jazz sounded the alarm:
The day was not to be.
We were all to leave as soon as possible.
Guidelines would be drafted to protect the wilds,
Then modified for the rest:
Matching outfits would suffice.
It would be a long journey to where no one would return.
Marching orders were quickly given and
The suits managed to (as always)
Watch from afar.

Standing between the broke and the broken,
On behalf of the majority, I stood, shakily
Asking why instead of how.
The suits became distressed,
Reporting me to higher-up suits.
A proposal was made to splay me out into as
Many pieces as possible,
So that from afar, I´d look like some crazy design with many arms.
An enneagram of flesh.
I waited quietly while they called numbers.
Mine was coming soon.

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