13 January 2011

Hot Coffee

it will come to that
and better to face it
with force than to take
that other line,
pale, dreading
that telephone call or
this encounter, the
awkwardness of wooden blocks
as I stumble, thick-soled,
towards you, a pot of coffee
in my (hospitable) hands

better, so, to bite off the
matter with a smile,
after all the revisions,
indecisions, to drive a
stake through the heart
of the thing, looming large
in your mind, no greater
than a gnat

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