I know in my heart, I know that
you don’t want to know about me.
You don’t want to see heartache,
you don’t want to hear sobs,
see tears, the open mouth that
can’t stop ratcheting sounds from
the depths, dragged up from the stomach
and vented reluctantly through the mouth,
the open maw.
Why would you?
You can pretend that the world is
a good place. Couples populate it
and nothing ever goes wrong.
Oh boy. Could I tell you a thing or two.
But you’re not ready.
Polly Robinson © 2013