They both breeze in, like bright new stars
Nice clean clothes, nice new cars
But they hide their truth like chameleons
And blend into the scenery of Machiavellians
He talks behind her back and she behind his.
It’s all sweetness and light; but a quiz?
Both smiles hide fork tongues
And eyes never leave the floor
They’re the perfect couple, blond and blue eyed
Perfect and emotionless husband and bride
She spits venom when they disagree
He spits contempt the moment he’s free
For days a curtain hung limp, torn and broken,
They’re nods and eyes, glared-words, unspoken.
Stubborn, determination neither gives ground
Curtain remains half-mast, flaps in the lounge.
Now they spend money to replenish their vows
Apply the glue of a mortgage in a new house
Anything that might distract from emotions they feel
Two fish, wriggling to escape the fisherman’s reel
David Cox 23/06/22
Categories:
machiavellians, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form: Rhyme
Replicas of calibrated handshakes,
captured screen-shot
search engine eyes,
silent in the deep darlings
of purple prose,
canons of instant articles of diction:
Taoists aren’t too quick to judge;
Machiavellians have mothers, too. But,
stirring anger to prance
in the unknown
is not in our nature
to prevail.
So Be without expecting expectation,
try while not trying,
and take nothing
to keep no more than now.
A minute steak for breakfast everyday,
cut and pastes a concise future
in a poem from,
predicted, or taken
from an abandoned URL.
Categories:
machiavellians, absence,
Form: Free verse