Play dead

Play dead                                                                                                 

I’ve received the handoff, apparently,

deep in my own territory,

lumbering towards daylight

but they’re after me.

It’s all a mistake!

I don’t want to be here

but there it is

deep in my belly.

A shaky glimpse

of that impossibly distant goal;

lurching forward

until I’m roughly brought down,

one shrill, sharp whistle

blowing the play dead.

O child of God, existence, Meher Baba said,

is a game God began on a whim.