This week’s prompt was to write a poem about a habit–good, bad, or otherwise. It’s always a challenge to steer clear of the obvious: nail-biting, hair twirling, gum popping. So, I dug a little deeper.
“Losing at love”
Another one is slipping through her
fingers, like a worn script. I blame
it on fear, not her choice, Like a
homing pigeon returning, she returns
to almost the same man after man
to make it all right, reliving, rewiring
the days of silent Santa and hand-me-down
patent leather shoes, and shrill kumbaya’s
around the campfire, gotta make it right so
she can rise like a phoenix from the school
house ashes, but she forgets that part, making
it all wrong again, letting this one slip away,
shooting flaming arrows of blame at him and
not on her fear of abandonment.