Outcast
In the glove compartment of my life
She was my map when I was lost
and the warmth to cover my hands.
Her only importance was expediency.
She was a refugee, mourning the pogrom
from her homeward-facing porch
but her backslide dialogue gave her away
and she became the brunt of my exploitation.
Her desires turned like a windmill-generator.
She was the direct current that attracted all of my static
and a lightning rod for my accusations
a battery storage for my invectives.
She was the least bittern on a wild-goose chase
the implausible pursuer of the impossible
a bewildered, bewitched, and can’t-be-bothered nester.
She was the little bird who told me it would work out.
And so, with the wisdom of a folk singer
on a crusade for world unity
she became the piper to my rat-like heart…
and it followed her to destruction..
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Author:
MendedFences27 (
Offline) - Published: April 29th, 2017 09:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 70
Offline)
Comments2
Very good write.
Had to read this I dont know how many times.. not because it was too deep, but because it blew me away..
your fourth stanza is something else entirely... You sir are the only other person bar me I know, who has mentioned a bittern in such a meaningful way within a poem....
Not sure why only me & Andy have left our visiting cards behind...
Neville
Thank you for giving this one a peek and for commenting. I remember writing this years ago and doing so hastily. I'm not so sure just what the message was, but I did like my own wording. Maybe it's about personality clashes of those never meant to be together. Or nature's draw based on availability.Either way I feel it is heartless.
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