Maggie Mae


A Man has Exploded in my Front Yard


Maggie Mae


His inner child is hanging upside down
from a tree, pointing his finger,
laughing at me.

He smells like cheap vengeance.
The stench is assertive
crawling under layers of skin.

I see his aching memories strewn
across my garden
seeping in.

I am
begging time to catch up.
He is a scattered man

and I am
a watcher

a statue of sick love

leaving him on his own
to gather himself.





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