Promises,
conflict,
Change.
Belly up in a bowl praying for rain, sun, or death.
There is not much that I want anymore.
Re-making,
re-building,
re-considering our contract.
You’ve forgotten the deal we made-
or you’re ignoring it.
I find it amusing
in a pathetic sort of way,
that you still want my loyalty-
after all the faith you’ve taken-
despite the pillars of strength
you’ve brought down.
You always have time for me -
I wish you didn't.
Time to point out the few scraps of living
you tell me
I should be grateful for.
You’re winning.
But you've never been a fair player -
As if you have no other opponent
you name me as your war
testing my loyalty
testing my patience,
testing and taking
and leaving me dry-
still you're winning
a war that is foolish to fight
but inevitable.
Despite what either of us wish,
we'll have to finish it.
All of us
stuck in this maze of futility
rejection,
aloneness -
All of us - who are like me and others who know you,
share this view
of hidden horizons
and gray dawns -
Every one of us - Like us,
believe there must be some
logic
to your
madness.
Though All of us
now know you
for the harlequin you are.
What fate I control
fits in a paper cup, and
yes, I question my own sanity
(but truth be told
I question yours more.)
And just when things
are starting to settle
into “normal”
into peace,
you spin your dastardly wheel again
and it, of course,
it lands on my name.
Soon there will be nothing left for you to take.
Being your favorite target,
I want to formally make my objection.
And now that I've done that, there is only one thing left to say…
“uncle.”
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