Halt, Who Goes There?

I see you coming, melancholy mood,
descending like a demon eighteen-wheeler
from out of nowhere racing to occlude
my passage through perception’s truth-concealer.

I’m drifting in bewildering terrain,
white-knuckled now, my eyes are turning glassy.
As wretched shocks dislodge me from my lane,
I can’t escape the damage to my chassis.

With wanderlust careening off the road,
it takes a heap of strength to hold the center.
The labored engine threatens to explode
before my awe-struck psyche starts to splinter.

But wait—I have a built-in safety pillow—
I’ll stomp the brakes and let the airbags billow!


cc-by-nc-nd

2020 Mary Boren
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Cleaning the Slate

cat in mirror

Before I face the coming year
in a flurry of resolutions,
I stand before my conscience here
in the middle of my ablutions.

Reflections of a scowling brow
when my patience was sorely tested
are splayed across the mirror now
in a mural of time arrested.

New promises are meaningless
on the altar of Good Intention
’til heaven’s finished cleaning this
with a powerful intervention.

 

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2012

 

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