Tonight's Poet Corner: Hard To Swallow

Hard To Swallow
by Belinda Roddie

Sometimes, when I speak my mind, I see
whiskey spread like artificial stubble
across your lips. The dragon awakens
in your gut, and when it screams to be
let out of its cage, you simply drown it
in more high-proof denial. Your feeble
attempt to disregard the truth
I stain your uneasy mind with is

just that - feeble, the cloth of ignorance
tearing, enough to let the light seep through.

Yes, I know this is hard
to swallow. And yes, I know

that my language is hot enough
to make even the calmest man squirm.
When the talons emerge, I can tell
that you want to hide from my swoop
to catch you, devour you, regurgitate you
into a more tolerable form. But there

are no windows to climb through,
and the doors are locked.

And when you finish the last of
your bottle, all hope knotted
like a cherry stem against your
tongue, you murmur, "I don't
feel well." And you shouldn't.
"I'm scared." And
you should be.