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By John I. Blair

I try to keep it calm,
To find repose,
Count my breaths,
Dry my sweaty palms,
Relax my face,
Focus on my nose.

Just now I caught myself
Tapping my right foot
At such a pace
I sounded like a hare
All a-thump, aware
Of skulking fox or hawk.

I feel like Iím the prey,
If just in metaphor;
If I donít chill awhile
I fear to find that I
Have no more whiles
In which to chill.

And so, controlled, collected,
I seek my special place Ė
But a new freeway was routed
Past my special place of late
And the thirsting, angry world
Is bursting through its gate.

©2003 John I. Blair

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