by Glen Martin Fitch
Is there anything more embarrassing
Than the tell-tale wreckage of love
The morning after?
My accomplice and I might smile,
But an intruder's smirk
Would make me blush.
He struck me at first sight--classic form,
Eternal youth, such thoughtless beauty,
A careless gesture.
At once I felt the urge to grab, to hide,
To weep, to pee, to die, to bite,
To shout for joy.
As Alexander I'd have bribed him,
Made metal, marble sing this warrior's praise
And be his slave.
Mid-glance his eyes pierced mine.
I felt redeemed. He saw right through me
And turned away.
His face was on my pillow last night.
(His downy cheek against my scratchy chin.
Encircled in my arms,
In that other world we seek to conquer
All night my love was mine.)
How the feathers flew!
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011