My man loves me
But he’d rather die
Than admit, say it
He demands my whereabouts
Questions where I’d been
Of my daily wanderings
A print-out from Map-Quest
Minute by minute journeys
Mile by mile excursions
Demanding who’s on my line
Attempts a quarantine
Dare I flirt
Watching every hip shift
Studying men’s faces
For the slightest interest
In my numerous body parts
He leaves me quickly
Returns a minute later
An attempt to catch me cheating
My man’s never jealous
Just drives himself insane
Worrying who’s going to steal me
Steal me from him
©2009FrancesOhanenye, all rights reserved.
--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.
No comments:
Post a Comment