Tonight's Poet Corner: My Humble Guest
My Humble Guest
by Belinda Roddie
from me with her brow askew,
her lips lopsided, her eyes
as red as the carpet swallowing
the half-mad mites beneath our boots.
I offered her a glass of noir. she
licked the stuff from the vessel
like a deprived hound. when she was
done, she stared at me for more.
I poured her more. she begged
for more. I knew that,
if I catered to her, she'd
if I catered to her, she'd
crumble like pastry in her chair.
nothing but crumbs spilling
from her funeral attire. the horns
outside were blaring. she was far
from me. her skin as mottled
as the tablecloth. her hair as white
as the chandelier's quartz. I raised
the bottle to my lips and drank. Wine
stained my ascot in violet hues
as if a blossom were bursting
from my chest. she watched. she
waited. I poured her no more.
I gave her no more.
I gave her no more.
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