The Watchers

At night they descend from the 3rd
and 2nd floor to drink and dance
and laugh on the first floor.

The watchers watch. The watched
are unaware of the constant whir
of the cameras, of their starring roles.

There is no privacy. We look in on you 24-7.
The watched are suspects for acts of insurrection.
from across the street we stare in shifts,

All paid for by the state, your tax dollars
working against you. It’s not a bad gig,
long hours, but high pay to play voyeur

You’re in your habitat, go ahead, relax,
carry on, be natural as if no one would care
or dare to peer so deeply into your life.

Your every utterance and gesture recorded.
We need to know what you’re doing in there,
what you’ve been up to, if you’re a threat.

The back and front doors are covered.
All who come and all who go are noted,
what they say, and how long they stay.

Nothing escapes the roving electronic eye.
The planted bugs record every whisper, every
kiss, and we lean in to listen for any slip-ups.

The Watchers

In the 1st floor parlour we see a celebration
of sorts, lots of affection and general tom-foolery,
clinking glasses, body contact, laughter.

If you happen to look out the window and see
something flash from where we are, it could be
the movement of the camera or a gun.

Or if a face looks too intently from our window,
Pay no mind, carry on. This is the last day
you will all be together like this. Enjoy!