Talking of Heroes
It’s not cowardice, let us say,
but discretion.
There’s a time for this, you know,
and maybe it is best we extend it.
Another day, or lifetime,
if you’d be so kind.
The quiet of the locked gate,
the peace of acquiescence,
the sanctuary of the steady schedule,
sure and unbroken.
Unbroken – the mere word
is healing, even as you
throw your poses at me.
Pick one, you demand,
make a difference,
mark some path,
give a future passerby
a monument to read. A place to
throw her roses at me?
On this spot.
On this spot, he…
felled a tree? Built his church?
Killed a bear, perhaps.
Killed a man, perhaps.
Killed a hundred.
Ate a peach, perhaps.
While the women come and go,
talking of headliners
and celebrities that I could be.
Champions, heroes
that I could be.
Breaking me,
and breaking me.
.
