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WHEN THE APRIL MELTS
Always wrap your scandals and intrigues
In the drabbest paper possible
So it will sit like a gift
No one cares to open.
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The hurricane in the glass
Of love's travels lost--
Decisions made as if at knifepoint
Are now stood up for all to see
Like the crosses of the crucified upon
A dusty, treeless hill.
-
The sky is torn,
Fingers blackened
And there is the glint
Of a third act blade
Behind ever grey shielding eye.
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I picked up a story last night at the bar.
I took her home.
She had long legs and a quirky end.
She had a climactic middle
And an assuaging denouement.
She seemed really interesting at the time,
But by morning
The sun rises on regret and through all
Her plot holes.
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