Eyes in Shadows

Predators, spies, and mere voyeurs—
Those we have to be afraid of

If we’re interesting, if we’re meat,
If we might be plotting something.

Some of us are none of these things.
Old bones have our reasons for dread—

Notices in our mailboxes,
The breakdowns of useful machines,

A simple stumble in the dark—
But we leave our windows open,

The slats of our blinds wide at dusk.
If our weak passwords are stolen,

The locks on our doors left broken,
We’re not too terribly shaken.

It’s memory that will leave us.
We know no one wants to see this.