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Laurel Evergreen Poem
The lone star rolls up on the little rock
From his state of my way, highway ego
He scoffs at the inconvenience of a road
And at the X, tells me which way my bow ought to go
So I sat and saw
How I could have my twinkie and eat it too
How I could have legs like stilts and still
Trip over a high school sized pebble in my shoe
What's one girl's opinion gonna do?
His praise of God is best done through boast
As a man full of air, with no son and no Ghost
He cries out "Jesus!" In vain
And is only Christ-like in name
There is no err in his ways,
Only existing sin is taking blame
Because it's his charges that kill him
Not the verdicts made in His courts
I am glad to spend one day in his house
So I can be glad for the thousands elsewhere
I don't need some secretary
Telling me my shortcomings made another man sick!
his illness was bred by being on-fenced for the freedom of his ventilations
In acting sour while believing he's forced to be sweet
In choking on his Freudian horror
While maintaining to appear so perfectly neat
So I sat and stared
At a man claiming to be ignored in one facet
And rear-kissed in another
At a man who dangled expectations above head
And likely hid secrets from his brother
At a man with a wall of success
And yet a man who can prove
That even in excellence
You still lose
What's one boy's opinion gonna do?
Copyright © Laurel Evergreen | Year Posted 2023
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Details |
Laurel Evergreen Poem
I remember the days before spring break being pregnant with buzzes
Of stirring summer drafts that rubbed elbows with me in the museum, in that hotel in St. Louis
Where his visage turned a new leaf of mine
Where resting my head on his stomach brought forth a budding youth
Which should’ve produced a flower
But instead yielded a blister
That burst and oozed pus mixed with blood
A vile bile that flooded the city streets and dinner theaters
A transformative storm that swirled into a hurricane
And caused that hotel to rupture and crumble
Down into a motel with a dingy room that I sleep alone in!
His stomach is replaced with a pillow I share with no one
My spring is gone, my branches bare
No more soil for the flower to grow there
Only concrete drafts that carry bitter winters
Envisioning all things that could've been
Makes my lungs engorged and distended
With bruises left from where their cage be too tight
But, the spirit of St. Louis still lives on
Not within me, but at least above me
My person from a different path reconciles with it
At the top of the arch
With the most perfect destiny in view
And from there it waves
Like a distant flag of peace
A flag that reminds me that such things
Were not of impossibility
Such things were in my grasp
And such things are still to come
Copyright © Laurel Evergreen | Year Posted 2023
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