with its silver hook of a handle
carefully dented and dinged
and a careless raintarp half dropped over it
no one will notice
organization is not my gift
and this fault conceals many others
how easy it is to conceal a deadly sin
behind a minor character flaw
that you may gently mock at dinner parties
and having had your audience applaud
with quiet smiles and the faintest hint of laughter
muffled in the pressed cloth napkins
and the hairspray designed to be invisible, but strong
one day i'll learn its trick
and hold my shape against the wind and rain and questing fingers
looking for all the world as though this
the graceful curl of my being
was how i was born to be
and no one will question my perfection
because after all, we all know, she's a little untidy
and we'll all be safe again because the balance was restored
all this perfect grace against the books left on the counter
and we allow her these little flaws,
or do i allow them
to find some safety in my vulnerability
what a weakness, to leave possessions scattered
as though they have no tie upon me
the wise ones see a sort of strength in it
a slightly twisted secret.
like the one i keep in my umbrella stand
with its shine a little spotted here and there
I smile and comment,
but the stains! they are so difficult to remove.
And really, who wants to bother
scrubbing away all that blood.
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