Face to Face

A face
Dragging forward
A face
Running backward
Taking turns in the corridor
And leaving tracks in the dust,
The “Nuts and bolts”
Are “Out of order”
And disappear
Through the small pink door.
“Is that the way?”

“Here it is,” says he.
Another door in the floor—
A trapdoor in the floor
An empty space
With stairs to a dark place.
A male voice calls.
A grasping arm seizes
Two caught unaware
Called by name
Pulled down by the same.

“Is that you?” calls he
From beneath the floor
The trapdoor in the floor.
Fear has no answer.
Act quickly.
Close the door,
And cover it up
With small rugs
And pieces of tile
Piled on top.

2009 Series Dream Poetry--Face to Face by L.D.Barnes