I Don’t Even Get To Say
That I swing both ways.
Because she won’t even look at me.
But this is par for the course,
Head off at ninety,
Peeling labels off sauce,
I’ve seen it all before.
What was it she said?
A pushover? Unhinged?
As critique, it’s technically weak,
As I have two sides, at least
And four hinges, at the time of press,
And some kinder souls might allow that,
A glass heart ne’er did harm
To fair wench, lest a gentleman hold me ajar,
With his limbs outstretched
And wait and wait but remain unchecked.
And also, i might add, if I may,
This purple coat’s fresh on today.
No exit, no fires, no names in lights,
Royal timber, hewn from evergreen block,
From chainsaw blade and sopping twine,
To brassy push plates and a fat waiter’s behind
That is my jamb, my friends, that is my jamb.
And who goes on a date with a door?
Maybe this isn’t a date, more a fixture.
No, wait, this is a date.
I’m a fixture.
© H Paul Goodwin 2015
Response to our Inspiration Call on November 29, 2015
Photo Credit: © FeeImages.com
Categories: Featured Writer's