A friend suffers through a divorce made
worse by good old boy judges and an ex-husband’s
wealth used as a weapon, a cudgel that could
just as easily break her jaw as her heart. I am
in loathe with my friend, but she cannot know it;
that would make matters worse. That would add
complexities to complications that already tear
at her soul like demented wolves feasting on
their own litters, howling at the screams
of their young as they swallow  living corpses
only just now released from their wombs.


About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

I wish you would tell me what you think about this post...

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.