He infused his least routine with a dreadful verbosity
and a puffy, sepulchral charm,
that made me hate him momentarily,
but when I didn't see him for awhile,
I had kind and tolerant thoughts
and could despise him gently
until I talked with him
and then,
I got infuriated
all over again..
He told all
the dull gall glimmer of glum,
fat, turgid backlash of grump,
he told all, amid harumph,
about his little boy tears,
I could not but sorrow.
But shit!
I got my own fears.
© 2010 Charlotte Merrill Jensen
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