Poem: A Widow

 A Widow

a Widow culls

the failures of lovers,

wanton as she goes,

smiling still

 

from mansion to shack

to home to hearth,

every incident of bed

beleaguered.

 

She watches dreams

from ants to lions and

 elephants who dwindle 

down tusky roads,

and the ill to violent swarms

who beat on misunderstood ground,

clutching as they sink,

their sentimental lies.

almost everyone

lurches when lungs stall,

cashiering for a coffin

their chains and chores.

a few rare songbirds 

chirp last fermatas,

and these, the Widow thinks,

never turn to dust.

 

but those tethered to tombstones,

or ladderlike prayers, they go down.

those who archive lists 

of what wasn’t or was--

because because because …

 

and so it goes

from mansion to shack to home to hearth,

incursions everywhere,

wherever cruelty lies naked.

==================================

9/7/24 ... radically altered poem ... scary poem

=======

I would prefer to use "wym" instead of the male-aligned "men."  "Wym" escapes gender.  But the neologism would be distractive.

===========