poem

 Shame

Morning blushes at its eastern edges

Before the full fledged embarrassment

Of another desultory day

Poetry is no excuse for hiding

The things you would

Really like to say 

It’s winter, what are the trees up to?

Stick figured depictions

Of fireworks explosions

Pounding my fist against the frozen earth

Like I’m buried alive and the ground 

Is the satin-lined door of my own coffin 

Nothing more annoying than people

Surprised by unsurprising things

Chewing when no one else is eating

Only the poet sees you blushing

Everyone else is still sleeping

His job is to tell the world everything 

What starts in shame

Just needs to be seen

Before the glorious end

12/21/23