Whose skin were you going to wear?
The prophet is no longer available.
There have been plenty of them
and most have grown much bigger
than the flesh they wore in life.
Poet has been over done
since so many made the ultimate
statement by jumping ship
or outliving their youth
when they were passionate.
Parent was given up some time back
when the word queer attached itself
to a torn psyche full of guilt
now past history of torn rainbows
but still it's what was learned.
Protestant seems to fit
without all the religious baggage
carried on a long train
full of previous nailers who now yell
something disrespectful in a crowded tomb.
So, now to run out of “P” words
means a start where the alphabet
separates itself from grunts
and gestures with means unknown
though some were wrinkled when worn.
To look at these hands that pound
out a simple language
with gaps that search
a forgetful noggin for the “right” dictation,
the scars belong here to no other.
So what is found is owned:
a cloth of memory that surrounds
all that has pretended and accepted
this year of simple messages,
this skin that passes its owner's test.
Copyright © 2013 by Barry G. Wick All rights reserved.