Bouncing Betty

At the graveyard of deserted heartaches
last-lap losers are proudly parading.
Jesters joyfully joggling mistakes.
Slowly fading,
disintegrating.
Vodka-soaked promises
alibis and evidence,
seen it all in retrospect.
The ambivalence
to stimulants.
I’m Frozen in my careless steps.
Since the click beneath my foot.
If I make a single move,
if this time  I don’t stay put
I know I’ll die a poetic death.
I’m like everybody else;
I don’t watch signs
until I’m lost.
I live to forget the bitter times,
corny rhymes
and short-lived joys.
So If you cannot want me now
as if I’m not already yours,
I’ll lift the foot,
and so should you.
The last thing we can do together.
Let’s launch the landmine,
this bouncing Betty.
I’m guessing we are both quite ready.
Let’s join the bitter-sweet parade,
raise the participation trophy.

 

 

 

 

 

Illustration by Troy Towns
©2018 Troy Towns All Rights Reserved

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