let me bear the blame
i’ll take the heat for your sins
time and time again.
forget politeness
and various niceties
i will wear the mark.
Tag: relationships
Small Talk
conversation is
not at all my strongest suit;
often I’m tongue-tied.
I’d much rather type
bits of witty repartée,
my mouth firmly closed.
So don’t expect much
should we meet face to face, friend.
My patter falls flat.
Peace, people!
Sleep Patterns
i’ve been accused now
by the abrupt
no kiss good night
the ensuing silence may be
construed as rest
or as fomentation.
too still, no easy patterns
of inhalations, no
gentle exhalations.
the clock measures time in
unslept minutes
awaiting judgement.
when the eruption occurs
i can think only of
future accountability.
i seem to have gotten it,
every bit of it,
wrong yet again.
no easy answers and now
i feel damned
either way.
we really are much too
old to live like this,
i sigh.
the sigh sets him off
anew, fuel to his
unspent fire.
sleep finally intrudes;
we can only say
so much.
Peace, people.
Unravel
He offered her a cloth
of intricately woven golden
threads, beautiful, yet
comforting, a shelter from
her storms.
Gratefully she accepted his
gift of warmth and love,
marveling at the complexity
of the workmanship and moved
by his generosity.
Bound by his offering, they
found peace and filled
their lives with love and
laughter, until she
noticed a tiny imperfection
in the cloth.
It wasn’t much, just a hint
of gray in the golden threads,
but it caused a dissatisfaction
in her restless spirit, and
old storms brewed anew.
Try as she might she could
not ignore the gray amidst
the gold.
Maybe, she thought, I can just
pull out this thread and all
will be well with my heart.
But once begun the task had
no end.
Gray became the color of
her discontent. One thread
led to another until she
touched more gray than
gold.
He watched her snipping
threads, not knowing how
to help, loving her even
as she worked at dismantling
his gift, his heart.
In the end, she sat alone
surrounded by threads of
gray and gold.
Too late she realized
the gray strands
were ones she’d added to
the tapestry by joining
her life to his.
Don’t Tell Me
Don’t tell me your
Secrets.
I have plenty of my own.
Don’t tell me your
Rules
I’ll just break them.
Don’t tell me your
Fears
Lest they trigger mine.
Don’t tell me you’re
Sorry
Unless you truly are.
Conversations With Studly
1.
Me: Did you hear that Mary and Ken are getting married next June.
Him: Hmmm
(One hour later)
Him: Hey, I heard that Mary and Ken are finally getting married.
Me: I know. I told you that earlier.
Him: Really?
Me: Yes. You never listen to me.
Him: Huh?
2.
Me: I think I’ll make chicken enchiladas for dinner.
Him: Why would you do that?
Me: Because I’m hungry.
Him: Huh?
Me: I’m making chicken enchiladas for dinner because I’m hungry.
Him: Oh, I thought you said you were taking cha cha lessons this winter.
Me: Why would I do that?
Him: That’s what I asked you.
Me: You never listen to me!
Him: Huh?
3.
Me: Let’s go to a movie this afternoon.
Him: Sure. What do you want to see?
Me: Either “Get on Up” or “Guardians of the Galaxy.”
Him: I thought you wanted to see the one about James Brown.
Me: I do. That’s what “Get On Up” is.
Him: Then why didn’t you say that?
Me: I did.
Him: Did what?
Me: Aargh.
Him: You forgot to say I don’t listen to you.
Me: It’s true; you never listen to me.
Him: What?
Praying for Eyebrowz 