Deflating zeal was my only prop pony, nosing a route
on a journey on ahead: hip agus hop.
In your absence I bedded down the three of us, invited to invade
a most regular cause celebre – doughty daughter, nabob poet and
an Orhaned orphan – poking and pressing with her open
armed intellects… a back-up ball
plus a veiled rayed pubis.
Swiftly, exhale out.
Halt, clamber; shin down
that daubed brick.
Whatever you once thought precious was taken from you gradually.
Some had a hand in its varnish though some will point, accusing me,
as some were meant odd destinies while other siphoning scot-free.
© Pats Mellow 2019