Mellow Man
July 8, 2009

I'm a worried woman on the heap of heartlessness,

On the hinge of hopelessness, and all

Because of a man.

My temperament is in strands. Composure stops like

a dead heart, sweet babies, and I cannot make more

demands.

World, I need a mellow man.

A man who is simple, stern, and can struggle.

He doesn't have to have, he does have move some,

He does, at least, have to muddle.

All my time is caked with a typical unwilling face

that I wipe because he can't bare a lively

pace.

He wants the high end but decides to steam 'cause

inside he knows a certain age breaks up what's

Was smoothed out yesterday.

He saw me - though not rich - making it, the day we met

at a thrift store. Believe that. "Can I get an introduction?" is

all I got.

I took it and his forty year attractiveness

What else with that and his matter-of-factness?

Yes, it started kindly, then barely a month

passed came his gruff, that fact that "I ain't enough",

I gave him, but that made his soul more rough.

Between the "What you have and what I don't",

came decent days and nights that run

coolly down my throat.

I would eventually choke,

but he won't make me broke;

he can dig through my earth

until he's dry or soaked.

While I'm with him, I'll deal until the tasty meal presents

himself, and, damn it, he'll bring his own spices.

I'm a chance-giver, but I'm familiar with the flow.

There's no respect for any man who won't

open my door, or backhands his mother

with his hot mouth, and won't offer to

wipe clean the streaks he left on my floor:

　

Waste is his place, but I have to

deal for hours and hours,

Smothered by the burnt

sheet of the fact that he

himself is what he hates.

I won't fight what I can't take.

© 2009 Jarrod C. Lacy