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Write No Cliches ... Pull No Punches ... And Keep Going All Night
Everything is killing me.
You rendered me so fragile –
a child toddling past
the park bench where I sit
to contemplate the future
looks up at me and gurgles,
and I
break down. Of course.
He leaves to go get ice cream
or chase a ball
or whatever kids do,
[am I confusing them
with puppies again –
which one fetches sticks?]
blissfully unaware
that the mere sight of him
stabs me in the chest
repeatedly.
Such violence,
who would have thought…
he seemed so innocent.
I hitch a few breaths shakily
and decide
martyrdom is not for me.
But still I cling
to concepts of the unconditional
[is this what you meant
by idealism?]
and struggle for compromise.
As the sun sings farewell
to swings,
and my silhouette
dangling from the monkey-bars,
I figure one day
we’ll play Scrabble
and drink whisky again
[see, I never wanted much] –
there’ll be a trading of stories;
motherhood and biological
glory -
and maybe,
just maybe, I’ll be
having such a good time,
I’ll have to shield you
from the truth.
Paul Grimsley
created this social network on Ning.
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