We were born to offer
each other our own plates
of suffering wounds.
No poultice will do.
Crying is out. Marriage also out-
each with our own insecurities and stubbornness -
two mules going down the same narrow path.
Money weighs heavily like bricks
in your jean pockets
so you must throw it in the air
and see where it lands.
Your home looks like Circus Vargas
equipped with a pretty girl spinning plates,
clowns making balloon animals,
and two acrobats teetering above
on a thin wire without a net.
I protest as loudly and as often
as wailing babies prevalent
in the bloody air of a local park
in Peoria, Arizona.
Copyright © Dawnell Harrison | Year Posted 2019
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