Ross My Boss Poem by Violetta Simatupang

Rosie is Ross.

She is my self-conscious boss. Ambitious. And obvious.
Talking to her at home words get caught in my throat.
Most of time. Pantomime.
Which surprises me. How being cut off in conversation
Turn my big mouth into pitiless confrontation
As all the senses, tenses, sentences become unpleasantness

I have not much left to say. No more game to play
Somehow she knows how to manage my tongue
Wherein the blameless vowels will all die young

She is my judiciously Ross. To whom 25 years ago I proposed
Yet you need to know she is still the spouse I owe
I am glad she doesn’t read. Otherwise anger might exceed
And she won’t understand any of these expressions. Confessions.
Will she?
As I painfully scream of my skipping self esteem
All on papers she wouldn’t read
My Ross doesn’t read. She talks and out she walks.

She is the boss
of our jailhouse.