The Long Lost Italian Poem by Robin Bennett

Always the chore to listen
to my words! You once were
fluent in English, that was before
you became a long lost Italian.
Three cheers for Columbus
discovering you and the
New World!

Your selfish nature bugs
the hell out of me. Not to mention
that stubborn streak; firmly imbedded
in your spine. Stop beating me into
tiny pieces with your hate filled
remarks. I was certain we
left those on that grotesque
couch in our therapists office.
Remember how it looked?
Covered in a hideous
orange velvet and worn down
and beaten with it's
own share of problems.

Words are my life. Family is my love.
You respect neither. Each is a
thankless job. I shall spin my utterances.
Keeping them safe, out of harms way.
My sole possession. Never have
they been community property.
What will you think if these works
make money when I am a member
of the dead poet's society?
I can imagine the lies now.