Throw a Punch at Me, If You Must

These hours seem to dilate into geologic ages
As I sit among some relatives, who struggle
To determine which of them has suffered most.
A north wind claws the land outside. I cannot
Find the courage to excuse myself and take a
Walk. My carpet's not so dirty as it often is,
Which means that, when I hang my head,
As I do often, there is naught for me to see.
You can do your dishes later. Hasten over.
Rescue me. Come in and say I stole some
Money. Tell them that I killed your dog.
Create the sort of cataclysm that would
Bring a brighter age. I'm begging, darling.
Please.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 26 times
Written on 2012-11-12 at 21:21

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