Oh, the Bovine!

Again, he stood still as he saw me break in two. He held her hand as he saw mine tremble, smiling at her, laughing with her -- killing me. There is no refuge in the golden bottle that wets my lips every time I tilt my head back. As my balance shifts, the thoughts I no longer want to think, the feelings I no longer want to feel, find peace only to be brought back to the upright and logical position with a swallow. She smiles at me. She wants to make a lasting impression on the women who threaten her with only their presence. The impression she leaves is that of a bovine creature having sat on my chest, compressed my lungs and sent the breath streaming from me. She left me stupid and dim.
    Lingering on her features my eyes cannot take in the whole creature at once. He kills me -- she kills me. He is the man holding the rope around the bovine's neck, having bought her from a seedy peddler named Chance and become fascinated with her spots. She stands on a pedestal, having appraised herself as a livestock better than her owner. She worships herself, but wants to worship her owner. He wants to be worshiped, and does not worship her; he is fascinated with her, but does not praise her in all of her glory. She tells the story of how they met looking down the tip of her nose -- not at me, but at the man! She did not choose him, at first, but he was persistent, and she had to give in. Now they sit before me and the Woman who holds their fate as a couple in her hands. The fate was sealed and delivered by him, when he placed the responsibility of his own relationship on someone else's shoulders. His faith in his own relationship was nonexistent and his confidence timid from the beginning. He kills me by trying to love her.

Reviews

[Gandré]

this was a emotional and psychological portrait of a hurting moment, sensitively painted. I liked " Lingering on her features my eyes cannot take in the whole creature at once". Well done ! thanks also for reading my poem AIR, much appreciated. Gandr�