You smiled.
It probably wasn’t at me but
i stole it home to lock it away
for better or worse.
I shook your smile till it turned from me,
tucked it up ever so gently
and placed it, cracked up and withered
in my sorry box.
You cried.
It probably wasn’t over me
but i took the credit for your tears,
consoling them with
every sweet notion i could dream up,
i only used words'd be a breeze to clean up...
...but your sorrow was
too deep for my sorry box...
so i hung it out to dry for a time...
with all my fears
and any other frightful things
that came to mind.
When done,
i pressed out the creases
(in truth, too few to mention)
and hung up my glory
with the rest of those outfits in our closet.
You roared.
Yes, it was at me.
With a poignant shout
i clapped you about
and despite the pain
we struggled on hoarsely -
i dragged you in,
postrate but raging all the way,
to my sorry box where...
...i slipped out a smile
and the rest of that darling stuff...
left them eye-balling one to the other,
grace to disgrace.
In time, they embraced
with outstretched pride,
joined hearts
and skipped on side by side
to come in search of me
and my weapons.
You looked.
It was to me.
It was simple
and sweet.
I forget who seduced who
but i wear that look on my cheek
for all to see and
my sorry box
is empty.
© Rebecca Rennie 2000
