Poetic License

By Patrick Doyle
Liberal Arts – English Major
A POEM FOR ALL THPoetic LicenseE WOMEN I’VE WRITTEN

PUBLISHED POETRY FOR WHO SHORTLY THEREAFTER BROKE IT OFF WITH ME

The disco ball spins away, reflections of images
of me and the women I write poems for.
Except the cord snaps and shatters.
The dance floor is nothing but bloody feet.

It happens every time a love poem gets published publicly
somewhere. Take for example the love poem where even
under the title I put “For ____, duh!”
Duh…heh.
A day or two before that lit mag hit the
printers, she cut the string lose, me falling
into a pit of broken glass.

Here it is, a love poem for someone who doesn’t even
explain why, ceases all contact from me and now forever
in print is a love poem for them.

What a tangled web we weave that chokes us to death
emotionally.

I learned my lesson about putting their names in it.
No way. Never again.
Well, maybe, if I really feel it for them.
I bet I do it again.
I can’t help but try to show affection through the
written word. Show love, admiration. Make you like me.
Emotions are strong with me, I feel like
a car that is overheating and cooling rapidly without
warning. Sometimes I wanna find all the issues of
that publication with the “Duh” in it and burn them.

It happened again recently and days before
it hit the printers, again, the affair ended.
When I read it now I want to vomit on the page
and then vomit on all the issues. Maybe them too.

Didn’t put their name in it though, must’ve had my
head straight somewhere, right beneath a guillotine.

Alright, we’re setting a time limit from now on.
Six months together before you get a poem that gets put somewhere,
be it The Beacon, a lit mag, any public place.
Alright, fine, four months.
Two weeks.
A week and that’s final.
Twenty four hours.
…Do you have a pen and paper on you?

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