Americana Injustica

“A watched pot never boils…”
he said,
as he was leaving me –

got me tangled in his coils…
bowed head,
on the edge of pleading –

his fingertips are forceful…
his touch has come to be –

in withdrawal and mournful…
when he’s about to leave –

he tends to find me on my knees,
waiting for him subserviently –

the same as I am when he leaves again,
until he returns to re-master the scene.


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