FOOD FOR A FAILED ROMANCE by Richard Quigley

That night the screeching telephone was some slack-lip

Siren, luring you into her brackish grip, thirsting to gush

Over the birthmark you called your trademark. A fruit

So swollen, juices almost run from it. You got up

From the table, the way you were hunched over like a child

On a throne of tied sticks. Soppy tyrant. Those days you

Exhausted on fearing the one who could take the mirrored

Slab from your mouth, the one with grime-slick handprints

Who could dirty your work shirt. You’ve been waiting too long

For your ride to come. Swallow your pride like I’ve swallowed

Your load. A bone surfaces in a butter cookie: hard-bitten,

Sweeter than you could have ever imagined.

No comments:

Followers

About Me

Black-Listed Magazine is an online literary magazine. We publish on a rolling basis: weekly, daily, sometimes hourly. Send submissions here: blacklistedmagazine@hotmail.com