Hi guys, so I’m going to try to make a habit to post every Sunday or so. I come up with so many poem ideas that it’s hard to keep track. Regardless! At least I don’t have a worry of running out of content.
*****
Okay, I thought it was the dog,
but then it was me,
forgetting the dog.
Then I forgot to off the porch light this way
and the happenchance hall light
that way,
and then the dog-bitch got scared stiff after
I shocked the air with a taser stick
In preparation of a cold dangerous nightly stroll
and he wouldn’t budge.
So then —
“It’s YOUR fault.
your own, own fault.
while I’m lying here in pain.
Why don’t you…?
Why don’t you…?
Why don’t you…?
You struck out today.”
And you know?
I don’t even know who said it first. If at all.
Me or her. To me.
*
I walked out.
Without the dog.
Tried to drown in the songs
I preciously prepared for a gallivanting night
and pretended I was quite the pity person
in those TV shows.
Wow. You really are quite the pity.
*
My mind held quite the game show that night,
my thoughts fastened tight on the spinning game board.
How many portions of sorry
will repave your trust in me?
What TYPE of sorry,
that you think so significant,
will reconaissance my sheer fright of you?
…and other million dollar questions I can’t answer.
*
My God!
*
Or maybe the carousel,
round and about on a tizzying guilt trip.
What will she say next?
Oh, god, is there a next?
I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry and really I’m more penitent than a saint.”
“Why don’t you learn and know the pain you
cast into my already seething nerves of hellfire
and my migraines and my cold spells and…
and…?”
Or…nothing the next morning.
It’s already spinning so quickly, you see,
it’s hard to get off and face you.
*
I love you so much
that I’d sooner wisk away into the ether
from where you took me and knit me
than show my miserly face all over again,
ready to pelt you with reminders
as if your own pain wasn’t enough to content with.
*
In the meantime,
until you forget,
I’ll keep tiptoeing around the hallways
like the tulips they they sing about.
Just for you.
*
I’d paid my penance
in silly tears.