False Positive

The screeching finally stopped with a mechanical click

that made the sudden silence feel heavy and thick.

I’m standing on the curb in my mismatched socks,

counting the cracks in the sidewalk blocks.

The manager is shouting through a white plastic cone

about safety and protocols and things we should have known.

But my heart is still hitting the wall of my chest,

a bird in a cage that’s been failed by the rest.

I look at Mrs. Gable and her frantic, wide stare,

her cat in a laundry basket, gasping for air.

We’re all just a drill until the day that we’re not,

shivering in the wind in a parking lot.