Pseudoclassic Scenario Poem by April Michelle

Thanksgiving was nice. I continue to realize the realities that are before me. One cousin is a future football player, while the other fails to see the beauty that is before her. While driving back to my humble apartment, I began to write, to think about this pseudoclassic scenario.

Inaction when left unchecked creates a reaction of tainted dissatisfaction. She moves, she acts with motion, like a potion swimming through his veins. She walks, she walk talks, and speaks of confidence in gains. She is an observer, like a khaki clad scientist marching the steps of Congress.

He sings, his voice carries, and it takes her like an ocean to distant lands. She laughs, her body shakes, and she yearns no more for the travel to exotic lands. She is a patron, hoping someday to honor him with amorous hands. He speaks, oh, he speaks and she listens, but in her mind, she does not hear. He reasons, with his actions unclear, perhaps he is not keen to the sound of 'dear'.

She is a General, with brief victories and hushed defeats, all the while trying to bring him near. He waits, he waits for the General to end her campaign, to be honest and end this game. He hopes, he hopes she will come forward, take his hand, and tell him her true name. She is a wanderer, taking him in with her eyes for the journey ahead. She to bear is the spurn, he is the blame. Perhaps another day, another name, and another game to be played… She moves on.

Interesting.. she leaves.

© 2010 April Michelle