Love Without Hope
The she-baboon adored that infant child,
and nursed it as it ailed. And even dead,
it was her darling. Struggling through the wild,
the mother had to flee when clan-mates fled.
She couldn’t bear to put the baby down.
With logic obvious to any mother,
She lugged the limp, lank, ugly thing around.
It hindered her. She lagged behind the others.
I’ve borne this torch too long. You’re just not worth
the misery it costs me, day on day.
I should have shrieved you, shunted you away,
or better yet, have strangled “us” at birth.
Hope always rots away to suffering,
but something in our natures bids us cling.
Copyright © Michael Coy | Year Posted 2017
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