My Dream Takes Shape

           Was
            it really just last night? I dreamt that I had my son's                 wife
            pleading, begging for her very life? Down on her knees,        at 
           the    point of a gun, apologizing for everything wrong    she  had
           ever  done.     As    the cops
    stormed          in their guns
      drawn, saying ma' am  don't
          do this  please drop
               your gun. What? 
   I proudly said,
  raising the gun
  to my head and
        squirting myself
         right in the face,
        with colored water
         and bits of paint.
       Make this wretch   
  who's lied to me finally 
    answer truthfully?


© June 10, 2010.  M Suzanne Wyatt. All Rights Reserved.

(Note: This is my one and only attempt at shape/concrete poetry)