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)
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