My Silence

I'm not a poet. Have I ever mentioned that? So this little ditty, written in less than 10 minutes, will be anything but an excellently-executed and thought-provoking poem. I know good poetry when I read it, but I have no idea how to execute the craft. That said, I was inspired by recent and ongoing events and felt the need to capture my thoughts in some form other than my typical kvetching.


She gushed and wiggled
when she found me.
Searched me out,
the façade of joy
Fixed firmly in place.

Persistent.
Woven around my
Leg, pleading for my review
Artistic pursuit her semblance.
I gave it—
watered down.

Retaliation came
inundated her
puerile rage and anger and tears.
The carefully painted pretext
cracked.
Crumbled.
Broken.
My gentleness—to her chaffed
condescension
that exaggerated misery.

Fury.
Provoked,
my failure to provide
Validation—
Venom, the cobra’s attempt at blindness—
I left unacknowledged.

Writhing,
twisting,
turning,
her maddened needing is vexed not by my
Critique—
but by my silence.