Squatters

By J. Lynne Moore

Voices speaking in the vent;
just squatters that pay no rent.

Called a taxi, but they won’t go;
seems I’m the star of this dog and pony show.

They lick my wounds,
and sing for me; self-righteousness tunes.

In my ear night and day,
not even the angels can keep them at bay.

They tell me they are just like Robin Hood;
believing their lies sometimes feels good.

Someday I may spit them out.
Eviction?….I’m not that stout.

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