Rating: 3.5
Your accusations, your
reproaches, again.
While I take them apart
as I can, one by one,
quoting facts, names, dates,
while I again count up on my fingers my two,
three, four good points,
and shout my life out in your face
you say nothing: you look at me.

The ears that are red, the veins
swelling in the neck - what
are you looking at? I know, I know that goodness
is not like this.

But doesn't it rouse your pity
to see how
every day I am here
imitating it?
Thursday, June 7, 2018

Delivering Poems Around The World

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3/5/2021 5:21:48 AM #