The Climate

Blame the climate. Cold and clear.
So used to all the hazy heat of southern indentations.
Blame the earth for giving you your birth.
Mother Nature, all too strong for you.
So blame the little mother that you knew.
She's dead and gone. It cannot hurt her now.
But then you took a wife and turned her
into just another mother. Squelch that thought.
Uneasiness resides within the residue.

Well then, why not...? That awful woman
down the street can be blamed
for the queasiness you feel.
And there, another one at the cash register to hell.
Still, you believe yourself heroic in your pose.
Father, boss, and conqueror. The seed
of all creative energy. Just like a god, you sit
upon your throne. Why can't those others
see you as you do...? Ignored because
they must be ignorant. And yet your ranting
and your raving never seem to make a dent.

Alternate, and find another lover.
One that seems to hold you in esteem.
Until she finds out that your dreams
do not include her there. Spare the dog,
but kill the bitch. You must assuage
the itch you feel down there. How many
other lovers has it been for you by now...?
Forget the count and find another cunt.
An opening that you might breed
into another round of cruelty.

Then blame the climate. Hot and sultry, sweating.
When you were born to feel the northern climbs.
Blame the earth for giving you your birth.
Mother Nature, all too strong for you.
So blame the little mother that you knew.
She's dead and gone. It cannot hurt her now.
North to south, or east to west, that pain
is festering within your gut again.
But then you took a wife and turned her
into just another mother. Squelch that thought.
Uneasiness resides within the residue.

Yet still, a weight of dues is growing there,
within you. You never thought you'd have to
make amends. But all your fences fell
into themselves. Leaving you without protection.
Living in a space unmentioned by your snotty peers.
Lone wolves are always empty, there inside.
No matter any taking of a bride.
Diving deep, you can't find sleep.
Mother must be hunting you again...

? Michaelette ?

12/13/2003
Copyright© 2003 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .