Listen & Be Heard Weekly Archives

Mindful of my lover
running late, as common
as tying your shoestrings;
I’m battered as an armadillos shell;
I put my bands around my emotional body
armor native to myself and walk like a stud
in darkness.
Everything in October has a shade of orange you know–
a hint of witch and goblin.
In the leaves between my naked feet
and toes, as I pace my walk in the parking lot,
I count them–
I count them color chart fragments and bites:
oranges, reds, still mostly greens.
Barefooted the time of the tears, the year fragmented.

I am male battered in a relationship
tested without my testosterone
no sexual rectification or recharging
of my batteries needed.

I lie limp.
Native to myself–
mindless of my lover running late.

Then she arrives.