Fold

 

The path was tricky
ruts and rocks and roller coaster turns
but we pledged to make the journey together
in sickness and in football season the and perpetual misunderstandings of “jealous” bosses….
Three wonderful blossoms bloomed in an otherwise chaotic garden
life wasn’t perfect but what is?
you make your choices and act accordingly
forgiving, forgetting as much as is human and blotting your tears
honoring your unspoken agreements…
until, one night, your bar chatter pendulum swung and stuck
and I found myself cast in a new role of comic book villain
all that was known of me were sly notes taken in your meetings of discontent
and justification
A new dealer sat at the table distributing cards from her own marked deck
it wasn’t very long before I folded.

 

 

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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