Watermelon Day

I look forward to this:
when a walk to the corner shop
is not full of jeopardy, watching
who is approaching; are they crossing lines
drawn in my imagination,
solid white two metre stripes, barriers;
My mind buzzes with energy,
synapses light up, snap, crackle—
diversionary tactics are needed—
follow the orange brick road, a real one,
do not stare at the faint copy,
cross the road to pass within a hair’s breath.
I look the other way, as if
not seeing will protect me, like a child
who thinks burying their head hides them.
Worth risking death, for watermelon day.