Expressed Vessel
Corrugated box with floppy wings
howling from a gape--that
mournful dog.
My duty
manifests threads
unraveled by revelation
in Svetlana's isolated face laminated
on cardboard, pleading with me to
share a phantom dance as
her tension wanders in tepid
waters; distance compels skating
ambition until scandalous betrayal
spits brutal retribution, jealous
rage and sharpened jabs to expel
vicious silence.
He debates the
scoundrel in the mirror, eyes
defiant: refuse to surrender,
shred the doll and bundle
those discarded husks,
conceal the torment--
shed the flesh
down the
drain
to Truman Reservoir.
Daddy guards your journey
never vanquished,
yet balking,
Svetlana’s skull in
the trunk--
a boulder
too great to throw.
"Mommy will be okay,"
pins down his mantra.
Mercy secures wings
with a blabbering
tape gun.
Copyright © John Weber | Year Posted 2009
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