ICE

by Edward Johnson / May 3rd, 2026

Who are these people in the house next door?
They seem decent enough
as we exchange pleasantries by the mailboxes,
but nothing is as it appears.
Shadows loom goofy footed toward the Sun.
Electricians arrive in unmarked vans
to check our glitchy Wi-Fi.
Sea lions bivouac like vagrant bivalves
to the moorage outside of town.
Then the raids begin.
Sirens scream through the night.
People are here one day, gone the next
and we were not as ready as we should have been.
History repeats itself. But right here? Right now?
And now we have ourselves to think about.

Edward Johnson is a civil rights attorney who has spent the past 30 years representing people living on and over the edge of homelessness, including a recent unsuccessful trip to the Supreme Court of the United States in Johnson v. Grants Pass. He has poetry recently out or forthcoming in Eclectica Magazine, Down in the Dirt, Beatnik Cowboy, Indefinite Space, Main Street Rag, Ginosko Literary Journal and Packingtown Review. Read other articles by Edward.

This article was posted on Sunday, May 3rd, 2026 at 8:00am and is filed under Poetry.