Every muscle in his body
is made of no. He is lock.
He is bolt. He is chain.
He has swallowed the key
so no one can reach it.
I try to fashion a skeleton key
out of love, but can’t find
a place where it will fit.
I hand it to him. He throws it.
August 30, 2016 by Rosemerry
Every muscle in his body
is made of no. He is lock.
He is bolt. He is chain.
He has swallowed the key
so no one can reach it.
I try to fashion a skeleton key
out of love, but can’t find
a place where it will fit.
I hand it to him. He throws it.
This poem should preface every book title that tries to teach parents to deal with their teens. A lovely abrupt three words at the end.