and when it encounters the first body
she pauses to find a way around it
then continues, tapping her everyday route
another and another she encounters
deaf, perhaps, to the gunshots echoing
oblivious to the bullets zinging past her
only when she comes to the grocer's shop
and finds it locked is her day interrupted
she knocks on the door, pounds on it
a bullet ricochets from a streetlight pole
she backs away and finds a bench to sit on
perhaps to figure out some sense in this
perhaps to wait for someone to unlock the door
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