The Closet

wrinkledice.jpg

She smiles,

a slow, careful smile

that curdles on top like bad milk,

a skin freezing in increments over troubled

waters.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says

to the accompaniment of the skeletons doing a jig in her coat closet.

He Never Saw Her Value

He never saw her value,

the way the sun drew out

the gold in her hair and  her heart,

until it was too late.

Solid,

comforting,

mining worth from the

crumbs he tossed at her feet,

she died to him slowly;

over years of neglect,

the arteries seeking sap

withered and found new source.

He reaches,

but grasps air –

she is falling,

falling,

ore he can no longer touch,

gem he can no longer claim

as his own.

One More Tree

Her words rasp at his flesh

and tear his manhood;

splintered,

he picks up the pieces and goes to his

dead-end job

to be passed over for the next promotion,

 dignity flayed.

His progeny

taunt his mannerisms behind his back,

and chip away at his character

with teeth drilled to

fine points.

When the financial storm hits,

and his trunk shatters,

who will hear one more tree

falling in the forest?