Poetry: “Letdown”

Yea,
Beyond evergreen pastures
Beckoning with crooked smiles,
Crisp shards of ivory,
Bashfully pure,
Inelegant in their ingrown
Baby-teeth-awkwardness,
Entreat my silence
To take her hand —
A cure-all compathy
Counting the worth-weight
Of stones perforating
Re-sewn pockets —
Let me hold your parasol.

That I feel you feel
The scream stretched
Below the lugubrious
Swatch of swarthy
Pirate-sky,
As a tugboat
Makes its mooring
Across the mourning
Harbor;
And I waste away,
Waiting for ambition
To rescind the offer
Of eternal glory-be’s…
That I feel you feel
Nothing special.

Taking to the switch
Won’t strip the sycamores
Of their staggering;
But you promise the auspicious
Runnel of OxyContin syrup
Suckled from the spout,
Oxytocin placebo;
A gush of letdown.

Another brick.


dreamstimefree_1939902
The Miracle Cure © Bertrandb | ID 1939902 | Dreamstime Stock Photos

“Letdown”

© Jane Bled 2016-2017

***

The imitation suckles so eagerly — I conjecture that mouth will not unlatch without a forceful finger to break the suction. Damn maternal instinct!

No plans for demolition. You’d have to know the secret password (no, not my network password — though apparently, that’s already been passed around like Halloween candy). Miracle-cures are overrated, anyway. Where’s the victory without the struggle?

Thank you for your consistent attention.


Jane

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