July 2005 / Volume Six / Issue Four
Cynthia Ruth Lewis
SHORT FUSE

What's the use?
Words bounce off you like rubber;
I guess old adages ring true.

Our arguments never even start--
merely one-sided gunshots
whose bullets never find their mark.

I envy that.
I wish I didn't know the meaning
of anger and frustration,
feeling the blood churning in my veins,
heart and temples thumping erratically;
an erupting volcano whose course
I cannot change.

And you, oblivious in your easy chair,
unconcerned. Unaware.
You make it look so simple.

If I had a stroke,
you probably wouldn't even notice,
which has made me come to realize
that I could go at any time
due to boredom
or suicide
and I'd never be missed...

it makes me wonder now,
if your unaffected indifference
is a hindrance
or a gift.
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