Half Dead Bird

Oh,
I’m here again.
Hard to see
until up close.
At first,
A New And Exciting Place,
but no, nothing new
Same Old Same Old.
Fool myself I have
something to offer
besides Great Friend.
Hope, delusion reign
until “he”
– doesn’t matter which –
brings me his latest
“other girl-puzzle” like a cat
with a half-dead bird
thinks he brings me a treat.
Instead horror, repulsion, dread
ultimately fascination.
To the cat, this is affection,
this is Acknowledgement
I am accepted, Acceptable,
maybe even needed,
definitely wanted.
It isn’t their fault
what I want, need, hope for
is gentler, more personal
with purring and petting.
Instead, I’ll try to stay clear
of the Struggling Bird,
the Unsolvable Puzzle
of what this other woman means
when she says or does x,
hints at y
wishing
I had a broom
to shove it all outside.
It isn’t the “He’s”
that are the problem.
my choices are.
Something I don’t “get”
about the Whole Thing
makes me blind
like my Sense of Direction,
off-kilter and predictably
Wrong, even when
I’m certain it is
Right.

(c) 2006

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