The Place of My Torment

To most, you are a sanctuary
a treasured reflection of the past
They meander your streets
in the memories of their minds
Speak fondly of your Downtown
High School and rail yard
and long for the Good Ole Days
They’ve placed you on a pedestal
and you bask in the glory
of yesterday
But you hold secrets too —
Bullies ran rampant in your streets
from 5th grade ’til 12th
I was ensnared in their traps
I do not harvest fond memories
Mine were of fear and disgust:
lewd remarks from male classmates
the whispers behind my back
and the blatant cruelty of Class Night
Your bastard children carved me up
and left me to rot
No, there is no affection from me to you
you were just a torment
and now I am through

Exercise — Five Senses of a Coffee Cup

Sight: black, glossy, round,
Touch: curved, warm, sleek, hollow on top
Smell: french vanilla, French Silk coffee
Hear: silence
Taste: sweet, vanilla, coffee


In our warm silence
you hold the mysteries
of my french vanilla day
Will it be curved and aromatic?
or will it be glossy and hollow?
I lean in to your French Silk roundness
and lift your blackness to my lips
drinking in your sweet coffee.
My day is set.