POETRY: TWO OUT OF TWELVE

Two Out Of Twelve

©June 2013, Mimi Wolske

All Right Reserved

Image

Ten out of Twelve

We’re nothing

More than static,

Paper doll cutouts

Languidly

Attending

Facebook to

Play games and

Entertain

Anyone

Who cares to

Stop by our pages

 

Funny how two hearts

Blend to one

Sobering over drinks

With no alcohol,

Two who will not

Give away

Shared Secrets

To outsiders

Or fiends who may

Need tending.

Passed lovers,

Acquaintances,

Faces and words

To be shared

And spared…

And shunned

Not just by us

But by Facebook, too.

 

If there was a pipe organ,

Would it exhale

Muffled notes

And erotic tones…

Come on baby, light my fire…

As we danced

On the wall,

On the floor,

On the bed?

Two out of Twelve,

Each in our

Wire spectacles

That, when we kissed,

Tonguing each other,

We’re pressed together

Look like four

Gold-rimmed

Bicycle wheels.

 

“Is it possible

To get a hangover

From constant

Frustration?”

I ask, as a roast beef

Sandwich flaps

In my hands

While I recount

The latest, cruel

Atrocities that are

Punctuated by lies

Spewed by a vindictive

Jealous woman

Who continually

Tries to sneak in

The back door

Wearing a different

Disguise

Every

Time.

 

Ten out of Twelve

We shake our heads at

Paper-plate

Offerings

Filled with

Food for thought

From “helpful Hannahs”

Who come to offer

Two cents worth of

Kindness and considerate

Advice for the weary,

The disheartened,

The flustered,

The angry;

Us…

 

Scattered

On our pages

The recent evidence

Of panty-clad requests

All too familiar, the

Public whores

Stripped, salacious,

Ready to tease and

Be bedded,

With the same friends

As all of the

Other requesters

You point out,

And we know

It Is Her…

Probably;

Paranoia confuses

Bad with good.

But, there she is,

The changeling,

Being her true self,

Acting innocent, asking

What’s wrong, and

Denying when asked

That any of them

Are her.

 

Occasionally

We underestimated

How pathetic

All of her acts were

And I wanted to

Send out a warning

To everyone she touched,

To everyone she sought,

To everyone she cried

To for help

With a suicidal-like

Cry for a panacea—

No!

Not that!

For a

Denouncement

Of us,

Plagued by her

Purloining of IDs—

No longer could

We see our

Noblesse oblige

Being extended to

One as hopeless

As the feigned

Defenseless

Satan’s liar who

We would never

Underestimate again.

 

Together,

Two out of Twelve,

Safely segregated

From everything,

From crowded places,

From everyone…

A dozen red surprises

In a small town

Broadens my smile

Warms your lips

Before lustful sighs

Are replaced gladly

With sated cries…

From us,

Who defiantly refuse to

Get out of bed

Before month’s end

Lingering,

Breathless and

Oblivious to time until

The end.

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