Don’t ask ( A poem)

 

Don’t ask a man,

Why he can’t make a decision

Worth dying for.

Why he still bleeds during the free pass

Of sunday night football

And why he has all of his fingers

Stuffed into the bowl of

Chicken wings on game day.

Why he spends his day

L Y I N G  through every pore of his body.

 

Don’t ask a man

Why he grits teeth

On the metallic telephone pole

For a conversation

That he’s too afraid to have.

Why words like love and honesty,

Still make his flesh recoil

Like a  L O S T little boy.

Crawling across the tapestry of emotion

Or why he’d rather let his chest

Blow out like the white bag

In the back of his old batmobile.

 

Don’t ask a man

Why he wears the same pair of jeans

Every single day

Or why his grey and black

Red stitched cardigan

Is the only thing holding

Him together.

 

Don’t ask a woman

Why she loves that man

Who can’t make a decision

Worth dying for.

 

Why she cleans up all his wounds

With her best linen napkin

After the free pass of life

Has bloodied his shin.

Why she continues to

pass him the bowl

Of chicken wings

On game day

When she knows

he’ll never leave her one.

 

Don’t ask a woman

Why she waits by the phone

For a tone that will never ring

And a conversation that will never happen,

When she knows he’ll probably

Make up an excuse about how he

Was too busy gritting his teeth to call her.

 

Why she believes in his empty, brightly coloured

Packages of false promises

Filled with a love that accompanies

The sound of her creaking heart.

Why she continues to make L E M O N A D E

From the curdled milk

He’s left behind in her fridge.

 

Don’t ask a woman why she’ll lay out his jeans

Every single day,

When she knows damn well

She’s the only thing

Holding that relationship

together.

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