In Your Own Skin

((This poem spoken by the author))

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.