| I used to think you were cute,
But then I found out
You were just blonde and mean,
Not a muse and not a bit amusing.
Soon the pulse of life in me went blank and stark,
Standing at the baby’s grave, though I pretended otherwise,
Then all the stars we steered by blinked out that humid night
And left each one alone, perspiring and deaf in the dark.
Now all those negative images
I collected all day for years and could not conceal,
Could not repeal, are piled up high above my ears;
I’ve shouldered them far, for fear of worse,
Though some of them are yours. Now it’s here,
You can see they garner no awards, no medals,
No honor or joy that I can tell,
No matter what our wishes are, no matter what the baby was.
rcs.
Current draft: 3/30/2010
Created on 3/27/2010 4:46 PM |
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Abandon hope, all ye who enter here! (At least put on your socks and pants.)