More than annoyed,
politely furious, and suffering
from PTSD,
I was elegantly unhinged.
I slipped on my Levi’s,
buttoned my white silk shirt
and strode out of cuckooville.
Sometimes I wish I’d lost it,
let them have it,
emptied the six-shooter.
But, I’m glad I didn’t.
Such types don’t need my help,
they go down on their own.
Plus, I thought, these are good boots,
who needs the mess?
I donned my Stetson,
left my name by the door in pencil,
grinding in the tip.
See it there?
It doesn’t say
puppet, robot, hostage.
Erase it
if you want to.
You’ll have to dig out the lead,
listening to your library of so-wrongs
singing its own music
on that player piano,
sounding like
a polar bear clawing
thin ice.
For the List at the Word Garden
I love it! Especially not wanting to mess up the boots! This poem resonates with me. It's a sisterhood. Smiles.
ReplyDeletePut down the six-shooter, then I'll comment. Whew okay, where were we? The player piano stanza is splendid stuff. It is alarming how many people prefer that someone else do their thinking for them.
ReplyDeleteBurn it down!!! Nice work, always bringing it gunslinger 😊
ReplyDelete“Plus, I thought, these are good boots, / who needs the mess?” So good. And the ending!!!
ReplyDeleteIt played in my mind like a movie, only instead of John Wayne in the lead, there's this white-silk clad character: "I was elegantly unhinged," and thoroughly entertaining! Plus, when someone starts sounding like "sounding like/a polar bear clawing/thin ice" -- gotta be painful to watch, much less hear -- it's time to walk away. :)
ReplyDelete