Fighting Irony: entry

Fiction is the Best Way of Telling Our Truth

Thinly veiled, I write of our hardships
each one a tiny model sailboat
hand-launched into the dyed blue
seas of park lakes and reservoirs,
urban engineering at its Disney best.
You don’t see it do you?
Even our water is fake.

I didn’t want this poem to be about you
or us
especially (sigh) not about Me
It’s my day off from scams and schemes
and your day off from,
What exactly do you do all day?
But here we are again
trapped in midnight’s moonlit silence
before noon.

Pointing out scars birth-marks blemishes
Punching away at already bruised arms
With the Incredulity of Saint Thomas
in Caravaggio’s masterpiece
Sticking our fingers deep into each other
‘s open wounds.

Come on baby love honey darling
Make it hurt like you used to;
Only you know how to turn me on.