Poetry: Call To Arms

There didn’t have to
be a reason
no one thing
no trigger
it was always boiling
just beneath the surface

It could have been
the number of soldiers
lying empty on the desk
next to the ashtray.
You know the one
the one that left
the two scars
the one into which you
stamped  your  anger

I could always tell
in the car
Adele’s playing
the hours will not pass
it will be a long night
a call to arms
a call in the morning
“I won’t be in today
something’s come up.”

And blood
would seemingly trickle
from the corners
of your
downturned mouth
from your hateful
from chewing on
the razors of your
rage and despair.

So many
candle impressions
left on walls
breaking windows
staining chairs
so many treasures
and keepsakes shattered.

Amazing how everything
was always ready
for a new scene
how you managed to
replace the facts
change the clues
change impressions
replace the views.

But then
you were exceptional at
evaporating the mess
outside scrubbed tidy
(inside would always
be ugly spiteful vengeful)
you were so thorough
so vigorous
through your efforts
appearances were kept.

Not me
nothing clean here
filthy with horrors
dirty with dread
scummy with fear
on the inside
never knowing when
the other heel was going
to drop or when
peacekeepers would
appear skeptical again
arrangements were made.

In the end
you wrote a play
I was the unknowing lead
the irony the comedy
the blasphemy
great theatre
it didn’t win me awards
you got me put away
what a drama!
Your performance epic
your sad woman’s show!

No sweat
took on the bout
no man could win
no sweat
it was the principle of it
I wasn’t lying down but
the judge she didn’t see it
my way
funny that

Oh, but now!
But now!
I have today
freedom never
tasted so good
sometimes I’m amazed
that I don’t
have more scars
but then again
your aim was never
that good
was it?


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