it's not that I have horrible taste
in women, exactly
or that my fear of an honest
relationship is a lit match
in my shirt pocket,
it's simply this:
I don't understand you
or her
or me
or the way things work
or are
or should be,
and I get confused so quickly
that my mind jumps in
ready to stop the bullets
from your loaded mouth,
and then of course
the trees collapse all around me
and the lumberjacks
all go home
to sit on front porches
carving wooden idols
out of looted branches
for their kids to have
while daddy plays in the forest
with chainsaws.
you see,
this is how it happens
each and every time.
I feel someone new moving in,
getting closer,
another woman with her nose
pressed up to my ear
ready to whisper
all of her secrets,
ready to exchange her scent
for my own,
ready to relax in my corner
between the bookshelf
and the fireplace
with her head in my lap,
her heart in my hand
like a fragile piece of life
I shouldn't be holding,
trusting me
more than I trust myself.
you see,
I am a monumental mess inside
and I told you this
from the very beginning
but you decided
to wear your x-ray specs
hoping to see right through
all the shit,
hoping to find the good food
hidden at the back of
the fridge.
well that's fine as wine
it's your waste of time,
but don't get sore
and try to even the score
with a cute little slice
of poetry.
Mick Tomlinson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/alone-with-warm-beer-stale-chips-question-marks/
