Piker Press — Weekly Journal of Arts and Literature
June 01, 2026

What Was It ?

"...They were whispering things..."

What was it ?

From the corner passing, I heard some snags.
They were whispering things, my name in blue.
Something was fishy; I just could smell it.

Why in the dark? I put my foot in front.
Hey, I heard you were mumbling about me.
They side-eyed me, avoiding my gaze.

I shook the man's arms. Give me some clue, sir.
They said, "Nothing special; it was just the day's briefing."
We were discussing how the summer has us dried.

I didn't buy the white lie, but I left anyway.
I got on with my chores but kept them in sight.
Their steps, their moving feet, were in my view.

The silence damped the whole room, them and me.
As their gazes were anywhere but on me
Avoiding any chance of a clash with me

The cat is looking for when to jump.
The mouse is looking for when to escape.
The torturer waited for a weakness to emerge.

Then patience thinned, the ice break
I turned looked them in the eyeball
My eyes cold, stark veins bulging out

The sweat drops, the tearing eyes
The men slip down as broken in spirit
They spoke the tongue moved, a spiraling cat

We were just talking you were looking good
We were embarrassed to say to the face
I said to guys, That wasn't hard now was it?
My dreams were murdered in day light
And people still ask who was the killer







More by Shadow → More poetry → Full issue →
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