A (b)old
heart **(l)ds
more courag(e)
and (s)atiates
more mind(s)
(e)ager
for knowle(d)ge

a gasp
that favored
curves where
this wasp
hunchback would
assuage their
forbearance that
wailed beyond
purchases in
which this
game with
their entitlement
was flatulence
but the
herd where
proportions were
beyond gases

Spitting on my hands I pick up my courage and face the dawning day.
No-one told me it would be like this,
This feeling of powerlessness,
The lack of control.
Today someone gave up their seat for me on a bus.
Why? Does my fragility show?
I am no different to yesterday,
When I was young.
When I am old and wiser, and worthy of respect
When my hair and skin are grey
These changes creeping quietly
Will mask my still young heart.
In my head I'll hear rock music roaring
Drowning out the years
While my smile belies the tartness of my tongue and
Poison wit.
Remember, we do not really change with age
We just grow older.
We just grow
We just
We
Die.

Poetry, for me, is like ****.

I get to watch events unfolding in front of me on my computer.
I can imagine how something will play out.
My imagination can run wild while viewing it.

Poetry is like **** for me.
Something to enjoy on my screen.
Something to give me a thrill.

Poetry is like **** for me.
Something I like to dabble in alone.
Something I fill my phone and laptop with.
Something I consider intimate.

Poetry, for me, is like ****.
I like to imagine myself in a small part of both.

But in both situations,

I'm getting ******.

Friday night and what to do
he can have any girl to *****
but his feet long for something new
beyond the old bip bam boo

You think you're right?
Talk about putting up a fight!
How can that be true,
When the only ones that believes is you.

You're wrong, forever and ever.
I don't even need to try to be clever.
Why do you fight back, you've already lost.
Just stop now, while still low is the cost!

What did you just say? No really, I missed it.
I'm sorry I acted like such a twit.
Dinner tonight? Oh you're busy.
That's alright. Man I'm dizzy.

Did she really say that to me?
Never has she been so busy like a bee.
Maybe she's avoiding contact
No, it's probably just an act.

She'll come back to me tomorrow
Free from tears of sorrow.
I hope that's how this ends
And not-- nevermind, my thoughts may not bend.

The next morning she had not returned.
My love, my love, to thee I yearn.
Tears bleed from my eyes,
The gods pick at me, like flies.

Heat fills my face, my breaths stagger.
I love you, please don't be gone.
Please, I can't live without you.
I- I- can't go on. Please come back my love.

Tears on my clothing was the least of my problems.
My life used to be stable, held by columns.
Your absence has weakened them.
What's left is nothing without my gem.

I'm ruined, done with.
With what I thought was a myth.
It's true, don't ever forget it.
My love has been lost, a cost because of wit.

My mother dearly wanted  
to be Dorothy Parker.
She yearned for a taste of the power that comes
from a truly witty response.

She craved to deliver
A statement so powerful
and sardonic that it would terminate
all argument or discussion.

My proximity made me an easy target to practice on
as each of our arguments ended with a bon mot
delivered with the all the acerbic flourish of Bette Davis.

As I listened to her footsteps receding down the hallway
I had only to take one more breath
before the footsteps reversed direction
and - standing at the doorway to my room -
She would deliver another culminating witticism
turn, leave and repeat.

In the fifties and sixties an intelligent woman –
a single mother of three
with no high school diploma,
but a surfeit of imagination –
Savoured what little power she could find
even if it was a fiction, a delusion
or just a punchline sharp enough to draw blood.

I measure out my days in witticisms that fall
As freely and pointlessly as leaves in autumn,
My few amongst the countless that fall anonymously
Along streets, in parks, in gardens
Filling gutters, blocking drains, making homes
For hedgehogs, rats and beetles.
Things we **** with cars, poisons and heels.