NR Digital

Poetry

by Sally Cook

A BAD FIT

The grapeshot of his words makes ribbons of
Her vitals. When one hits a major vein,
Her heart will burst, and finally her love
Will recognize its efforts were in vain.

He might have dropped her in the deepest ocean,
Or pushed her from a pinnacle one day.
Then she’d have lost all sense and all emotion.
Suppose he’d found another way to play –
Perhaps a smoking bomb to blast illusions,
Eliminate the problem finally?
But he refused the kindness of conclusions
Each time, and helped her up. Why should this be?

He can’t stop talking, she can’t get away.
They rise, into the bleakness of the day.

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