“I am accumulating a stockpile of mistrust for the letter J”
Oh you know me, dry as humor,
my tear ducts taped shut
year-round;
I do not even trickle
much less cataract –
it’s just not a thing I do.
But tonight
after a weekend of three hands competing
to handpuppet me,
to transform my mouth into mouthpiece,
scrape my goodwill into carrier pigeon,
and raise my integrity into question,
I sit on the precipice of leaking
despite confidentiality contracts
and overdeveloped hydrophobia.
The most dangerous place for carrier pigeons
is not in the crossfire
but in the place they feel safest
which is also the place in which they are caged.
Let the record show that I know that
those three hands pulling my chains are attached to adults
whose isosceles could be righted
if they bucked up and acted like it
and talked to each other
like grown-ups.
No comments:
Post a Comment