The tin roof got to be like us
trying to keep it together.
When it rained, we couldn't hear
each other talk among the pings,
every sullen word ricocheting
into the forested hills long after
the lights went out. Some nights
when the moon hid out, we turned on
the music, pushed back the rug,
and took each other in arms, later
wondering why we'd let each
other down so bad. Come morning,
we got to seeing again the truth
gets in the way, how too much effort
to scrape away the rust can leave
a hole you just can't fill.
© 2012 Maureen E. Doallas
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Today's poem is my response to the photo prompt at Magpie Tales: Midnight Snack by Curtis Wilson Cost. Go here to see the photo, then write your own poem and drop the link in the box.
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12 comments:
Lovely write...so rusty and melancholy...
I love this
I love the final metaphor of scraping away too much rust. Really nice poem, Maureen.
The last two lines I had never thought of before; fine work.
The rust and the hole left behind created an image that fired my imagination. That was good because I didn't like my earlier poem all that much, so I posted the new one as a comment to my own post.
Thanks.
this is sad, but def lovely...
Oh My this is great- amazing how much good came from this scene,thanks!
Beautiful, Maureen!
lovely...sometimes better to let it rust and rust....
"....a hole you just can't fill"....this is a magnificent write Maureen!
A lot of truth here, sadly.
Well done!
=)
Rust is the new black...
or maybe just the forerunner of a black hole, or a hole of nothing or a whole lot of nothing if one lets it run on.
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