Treasure Island

Margaret Alice Second

(24 January 1961 / South Africa)

Thorn In Your Flesh


You find it irritating when I repeat myself
in gladness - the new rule is I must write
it down when I’m happy as my talking is
painful to hear - good, I’m writing it down,
let me not be the thorn in your flesh sent
by the Lord to keep you humble, let me
get out of your hair so you can be superior

Since you keep pointing out how inferior
my family to your brilliant forebears, it’s a
pity I don’t fall down dead in the presence
of so much excellence - I share your wish
that my offending family and I might be out
of your life rather sooner than later - and -
I commiserate with your fate…

21 September 2013

Submitted: Saturday, September 21, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 23, 2013

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Thorn In Your Flesh by Margaret Alice Second )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. A Dream Within A Dream
    Edgar Allan Poe

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Lullaby, Richard D. Remler
  2. The final sentence, s yadu krishnan
  3. Rhythm's Of Propensity, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  4. PREDATORS 10 WORDS, Beryl Dov
  5. The two laughs of a toddler, Kaki Venugopala Rao
  6. *IX*- To Love, Leslie Guylee Cron
  7. Making A Nation, Tony Adah
  8. Two Moons, Akhtar Jawad
  9. If James T. Kirk wrote a poem, Gouda Moon
  10. Who wants that Catch-22?, Mark Heathcote

Poem of the Day

poet Alfred Lord Tennyson

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]