Tonight's Poet Corner: A Slur On Monday
A Slur On Monday
by Belinda Roddie
Look at the handprint
you left behind - the one
tinged with red ink, the
tint lingering on the rigid
whiteboard in the back
of the room. Your palm
has left such an impact, I'm
surprised I don't see your
life line tattooed against
what used to be pure pearl.
Perhaps it'll wind up shorter
than you expect, if you
stay this tactless all year.
How fascinating it is
that a single word,
with lines crossed like
married fingers
censoring the strain,
can be so bold as to
change the color of a day.
The sunset brings the
Pollock pattern to the wall,
but as the bokeh sits
comfortably, I can't seem
to bring the better parts
of my work into focus
or make the subtle sneer
of youthful bigotry blur.
by Belinda Roddie
Look at the handprint
you left behind - the one
tinged with red ink, the
tint lingering on the rigid
whiteboard in the back
of the room. Your palm
has left such an impact, I'm
surprised I don't see your
life line tattooed against
what used to be pure pearl.
Perhaps it'll wind up shorter
than you expect, if you
stay this tactless all year.
How fascinating it is
that a single word,
with lines crossed like
married fingers
censoring the strain,
can be so bold as to
change the color of a day.
The sunset brings the
Pollock pattern to the wall,
but as the bokeh sits
comfortably, I can't seem
to bring the better parts
of my work into focus
or make the subtle sneer
of youthful bigotry blur.
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