The day was exhausted, as much were we.
When you said those words, you said them with teeth.
looking within me, eyes minatory.
I peered instead at your tone underneath.
Were I to charge, a fee placed on ego,
my throat, a prisoner, wouldn’t react:
You aimed directly at my morillo
to stop those quite words right in their tracks.
The War of the Roses entered act two:
to make me cow to your vile rhetoric,
all those castrating winds, to me, you blew
What am I? Selfish, immature, a dick?
Beside the lonely road, where no movement
Is allowed, ‘cept my heart invisible
Our car pavisanding, its wax lucent,
With a wheel stuck for greater principles.
You said you were kidding – spoke in a buzz,
that I wasn’t that. You were but I was.
Michael T. Smith is an Assistant Professor of the Polytechnic Institute at Purdue University, where he received his PhD in English. He teaches cross-disciplinary courses that blend humanities with other areas. He has published over 75 pieces (poetry and prose) in over 40 different journals. He loves to travel.