goaded to go limp
man finds woman clap trap trapped
in her room, sealed shut
found through an open door near
open books (the ones you write on).
there’s an in memoriam we always do
there’s a little song she’d whistle to
so we sang her a song a little hymn,
for a girl a woman for a whim
that, sir, was her balm, her guide.
we must protect her.
(but i think she’s dead)
there are things i heard she out and said
“they’ve ruined it, they’ve thrown him out
they’ve gone behind my back, i want
the cure, i want
the pure command
‘remain all calm’
but how do i go and carry on
when i can’t feel the brush of your hands,
when you’ve gone?”
Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry