The petulant embrace of a middle aged man
Signals my return from the bombardment
As the ramparts crumble, spraying choking fragments of
Grecian influence ‘round the temple grounds
He looks behind our momentary tenderness
To see the ruined state of the state
And as if spurred by some horrid god, cries
In the voice of his daughters,
“But from where did you amass such a guilt?
From whom did you learn to bundle your clothes up
All haywire and royal like that? What purpose
Is garnered from the dereliction of duty?
The rash abandonment of the grueling caste?
It prickles my skin, leaving boils and coils
Of wasted epiderms, who sit and wonder
About the condition.”
My tears welled with eyes,
Fresh droplets of sight dripping
With every twist of my neckpiece.
But from this point I must return
My liquefaction awaits eagerly
To hear news of the front
The bombardment must keep itself from reticence
Lest we lose our footing in the paradigm parade.