Trap

Couth as an old mule

Her brandished heels

Recede hastily toward

The horizon.

White as a swan’s back,

Those dainty feet,

A connoisseur’s dream.

Their delicate patter

Sent up plumes of dust

Like a phoenix mid-revival.

What hope has love

When dreams desensitize?

*

Her suitors stack

Themselves together

In interchangeable rows

One man’s face

Another man’s behind.

Suitcases bursting,

Mostly socks.

*

How she longed then

For the love of a good woman

For a conversation

Without the implications

Of that bitter stem.

Who could blame her retreat?

*

Though these bridges

Go up in flames

I can still ferry

The waters beneath them

She thought chewing

The inside of her sleeve

To dislodge

That disreputable organ

Which had come

Upon her so often

As a trap.

*

I am going to be quite busy the next few days so I may not get the chance to write I will have to see.

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6 responses to “Trap

  1. This is very profound and thought-provoking: “Though these bridges

    Go up in flames

    I can still ferry

    The waters beneath them”

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