by C.B. Anderson

I'd kill myself, but now it's much too late.
I might have wished it weren't the thoughts I bore
But something I declined, then later ate,
That brought the roiling to my belly. Poor

Of me to think such thoughts at all, but then
To speak my mind and call her names, undo
The final threads that bound us -- that was when
She led him off and dropped the other shoe.

There was a time her thoughtful tongue spoke magic,
And when I watched her kiss him on the lips
I felt the spell transshipped. Not half so tragic
That touch, as when she joined him to her hips.

© 2009 by C.B. Anderson




About the Author

C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Many scores of his poems have appeared in dozens of print and electronic journals. His e-chapbook, A Walk in the Dark, can be read on the website of The New Formalist Press.


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