The lines
(which were once quite pronounced)
had most people
dancing rhythmically
to avoid them.
There were occasionally others
who invited trouble
by purposely stepping
on the cracks.

Then the lines became so faint
it was impossible to see them.
Most people scurried around,
eyes on the ground,
evading adversity.
Others kept their eyes on the sky
and said,
“Thank you for a human touch,”
when they collided with neighbours.

Now the lines are solid and wide
and run everywhere.
They bisect each other
like knitting gone terribly wrong
and one cannot help but tread
on at least one crevice with each stride.

I am tired
of playing the game
and watching friends get caught
in the sticky bit of the web
while the spiders
rub their pedipalps
in glee.

I have retreated to my little hole
and here I will stay,
never having to worry about
my mother’s back.

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DAY TWENTY-NINE:  29 April

Write a poem that meditates, from a position of tranquility, on an emotion you have felt powerfully.

Hmm.  I don’t think I successfully followed the prompt.  I set out to do so.  But the poem lead me other places.