You silly boy.
Graying at the temples
and still you mope
over the water
under that bridge.
Our friends say
you’re not yourself
these days, that
you seem small,
fragile.
In spite of your, well,
spite, I believe them.
Your words spew
out of you like a
screaming tea kettle,
insistent, and then
easily put aside.
Compassionate people
care about those who
are hurting, and I’d like
to think that I am, you
know, compassionate.
I'm remembering vividly
that one scene, after
she hurls Burke down
the stairs, turns her head
around an entire revolution
and then giggles.
Yes, with a shit eating
grin, I remember.
Hi Sherrie,
ReplyDeleteYou are familiar with my usual disclaimer. Having said that, your poetry is very hard hitting and of course very personal. It is what gives this poem and some of the others their momentum. I believe every poem has its momentum and that is what grabs the reader. I also believe that that is what we mean when we say, we liked a poem. It took our mind to an experience.
I will say this, God help whoever this individual is, but I liked the poem.
I actually wrote this poem about a stalker I have at Poem Hunter; you might know him from the site. And the narrator of this poem is a persona, as Jefferson has suggested we often write from/through.
ReplyDeleteHi Sherrie, when I first read this poem I thought, wow, this poet is one tough lady! Loved the imagery, loved the last stanza - it "diamonded" the whole poem. A gem -Congrats!
ReplyDelete