I felt them on the back of my neck
Icy eyes with dangling fingers
Scraping just above the skin
Pulling at the fine hairs

I stop
And turn my head
Feet still planted
Narrowing my eyes
The porch void of any human gaze

I turn back, slowly, scratching at the back of my neck
Gravel now grinding under my shuffling feet
No one was there
No one was watching

And I begin to shuffle away faster

© Mike Yost