Before moving,
I left my apartment spotless -
no soap **** in the tub,
no hairs or crumbs in the carpet,
not even the linoleum had a scratch or scuff -
spotless, I can assure you.
Yet, I got a letter from my landlord
stating that my security deposit was being withheld.
O, the injustice!
O, the villainy!
Four-hundred dollars, that swine!
That crooked-nosed knave!
If this were 14th century feudalist Europe,
when men still had a fighting chance, mind you,
I would have half a mind to
drag his very name through each tavern and inn,
through the street muck,
don my longsword,
dress my horse,
ride through the dawn,
into the walls of his squalid garrison,
lay waste to his livestock,
enslave his first-begotten,
canoodle his wife,
torch his hens and roosters,
shave him bald,
form a rope with his filthy hair,
tie it to his filthy ankle,
and yank him along
from the back of my horse,
spitting in the eyes
of those who dare oppose me!
Nay, who oppose justice!

But, alas,
I merely read the notice letter and sighed.

To live, to feel,
deny what's real,
to run, to hide,
to stand and fight,
to give or receive,
or choose to believe,
to laugh, to cry,
or hold it inside,
to bend or to break,
to lie there awake,
to sleep and to dream,
stay quiet or scream,
to nurse or to ****,
to swallow that pill,
to eat, to drink,
or refuse to think,
to die every night
or bask in the light,
to hold on, stay true,
or let go of you,
I'll do what it takes
to get through.

****.
are you uncomfortable?
                 tell me
                         do you feel sick?
****.
i will say it
        over and over again
                    each time louder
                                and more angry than the last
****.
repeating, repeating, repeating
                                 until you decide to
                                                    take action
                                                            and stop blaming the victim
****.
does it scare you?
            do something about it
                       scream about how enraged
                                          you are that this is even an issue

That ever elusive
clear blue

water we chased
was actually

cloudy from rain and
agitation

goodbye friend
I feel I hardly knew
you

there's so much
to be said

but

no time
and not enough
language

to express
the proper sentiments

of such parting sorrow

Whit Howland © 2020