I see you standing there,
staring out the third floor window
with your belly sticking out,
your left knee holding the weight you wrestle
in your face.
The scowl masking thoughts
feeds on confused atoms
clashing around in your brain...
The emergency in your tone,
the curt withdrawl from truth...
You interest me.
So much that I almost don't notice
the man with his arm around you,
his head resting nervously on your shoulder,
your head holding his in place.
He is the slumping doll, you the metal stand,
but you've been folded and bent so that
you can't stand straight anymore,
not with his weight atop you.
© 1999-2000 linda lee tritton