Tuesday, July 30, 2024

pulled in and falling down

    Is it fact if I cannot prove it wrong?
Maybe everyone is in love with that face
     Drawn in by the
internal vortex sweetly begging,
          with big Bambi eyes,
          "Please, love me."

When I was 16, my mother told me
            "You can't save every stray."
Yet, that's just what I've done
        for the two decades that followed.

Now, a happy puppy, leash in mouth, 
           happy tail wagging, waiting for a pat,
    gamboling behind busy boys.

Boys too busy with themselves
        but with time 
    to pluck feathers off an angel
   to make greasy buffalo wings.
Boys too busy with themselves
        getting what they want
                when they want it.
Boys too busy with themselves
        to really notice.

I hope the boys never really see her;
the heartworms never get to her;
 even if that's all her puppy heart wants
        -too precious for their time.

The theories of science
can explain gravity's pull
but not why ripe apples
      keep falling
            to the ground. 

The decaying fruit, 
        sticky paws, stumbling steps.
Yet I hesitate when I want to call out
                 "Don't pick it up!"
As if I, who is just as rotten to the core,
           have any right to try and protect.

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