Leaving a mess
Boredom is a dangerous enemy.
It can lead a person to destroy
a marriage, seeking novelty
that will tire soon enough.
Boredom can lead to taking
risks that invite trouble,
getting hooked on adrenaline
danger an addictive spice.
Why does what pleased us
dim out? Why abandon
the well worn for the shiny
new. Glitter wears off.
We can go through life
discarding, leaving a wake
of rotten pledges, torn up
loves, diseased friendships.
Boredom hollows a day--
something we want to
escape. How can we
revive what’s really dear?
What we left behind
We both came from parents
who could not really love us.
We were both told we were
ugly, you too fat, me too skinny.
We both forced our way out
of houses too tight for us
places of frequent misery
we’d dreamed of fleeing
since puberty, our wings
made of desire and dream.
My crutches were books.
Yours created of humor
and a shield of charm.
We grabbed at love but
for years it turned rotten
or died of drought, neglect.
Then one summer we found
each other and that was
absolutely another story
that still is telling itself.
Marge Piercy has published 20 poetry collections, 17 novels including Sex Wars. PM Press reissued Vida, Dance the Eagle to Sleep; they brought out short stories The Cost of Lunch Etc. and My Body, My Life [essays, poems]. She has read at over 575 venues here and abroad. Her most recent book, The Hour of My Death, will be published by SIBYLLINE PRESS of California.
Boredom is a dangerous enemy.
It can lead a person to destroy
a marriage, seeking novelty
that will tire soon enough.
Boredom can lead to taking
risks that invite trouble,
getting hooked on adrenaline
danger an addictive spice.
Why does what pleased us
dim out? Why abandon
the well worn for the shiny
new. Glitter wears off.
We can go through life
discarding, leaving a wake
of rotten pledges, torn up
loves, diseased friendships.
Boredom hollows a day--
something we want to
escape. How can we
revive what’s really dear?
What we left behind
We both came from parents
who could not really love us.
We were both told we were
ugly, you too fat, me too skinny.
We both forced our way out
of houses too tight for us
places of frequent misery
we’d dreamed of fleeing
since puberty, our wings
made of desire and dream.
My crutches were books.
Yours created of humor
and a shield of charm.
We grabbed at love but
for years it turned rotten
or died of drought, neglect.
Then one summer we found
each other and that was
absolutely another story
that still is telling itself.
Marge Piercy has published 20 poetry collections, 17 novels including Sex Wars. PM Press reissued Vida, Dance the Eagle to Sleep; they brought out short stories The Cost of Lunch Etc. and My Body, My Life [essays, poems]. She has read at over 575 venues here and abroad. Her most recent book, The Hour of My Death, will be published by SIBYLLINE PRESS of California.
