Coping Poem by Adrianne Quinlan

When by chance we meet at the line and
Northern winds dip the eerie lake to freezing,
You chat of bomb blasts and lost innocence.
And when you think yourself unseen, the deadly
Spray mists thorny skeletons that merely sleep,
Doing its terrible work while winter masks
Latent beauty's dying.

And when the freeze relents and the landscape
Shines bright with floral light you chat of rain's
Dazzling effects. And I notice that only those lucky
Rosebushes farthest from you thrive.

I was stunned when I came upon you in your
Professional capacity doling out rubs and drugs,
Lending advice with the sincerest of smiles.

I wonder how you smile and banter in the face of
A stranger-in-ire and not use your potions and
Dreadful knowledge in wrathful reckoning.

I heard it said that you had the patience of Job.
You can suck a fireball without flinching.

I wonder what impassioned strangers hear when
Each sound I hear is bleat-speak, and as they
Turn to the sun, the tiger's call.

Thorns on dead branches prick, I guess, so
Strangers can amble away free to shade their eyes.