The Toe Actually is More Dangerous than the Heel

We shall leave it at this, then: done, never
Started. I'll wave when I see you. You'll
Smile. We'll pass. Whatever seemed once
Close won't come into being, and I, in exhaustion,
Will silence my blandishments. You will be
Hurt, but you won't say a word. You'll go
On with your life, which I'd hoped to make
Brighter, and, I, like a cockroach, contained
In a cabinet, will wait for an opening, ready
To run, either toward or away from the next
Needy woman, awaiting the footstep which
Ends what has proven, this time, as the others,
Not much of a life. A quick squish, a sigh,
And a spot on the floor. Would that feel any
Different from what you have done? I doubt
It. Let's leave it at this.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 67 times
Written on 2015-05-27 at 02:00

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