Our Words
Each morning we’d sweep up words,
and shove them under rugs -
or coffee table books.
A few words escaped to the garden
Where they poisoned the peach tree.
Some of our words
were overheard in Mongolia
carried upon tundra winds.
Painted walls blistered from the insults,
the cat got so high-strung
we had to send it away to be done.
We confided to our woe begotten priest,
who incoherently denounced us
while scratching his ball-sack.
When our son came home from University
we lied brightly to him while
hiding our eyes behind creamy court documents.
Later our smiles were smeared on wet bedsheets.
We were still sharpening words like lead pencils
when passing crows commenced to ape our manners.
At last, exhausted by all that love
we slept peacefully in each other’s arms.
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