I learned
to choose what breaks,
bends, or is
shaken to bits,
by the spasms
and throes
of life’s little fits.
I learned
to hand over
the mismatched
pieces,
hiding amidst
decades of trifles
or fine crystal gifts.
The bull is breaking
display cabinet doors
and grinding
my tea cups
to powder,
once more…
(a delicate handle
protrudes ‘tween
his lips)
as such,
he could not
seem more brash
or much prouder,
whilst surveying
the carnage
with fore-hooves
on his hips.
He thrashes
and crashes
and crushes
and smashes,
seemingly unaware
that I’ve learned
the pattering
pattern
as his hooves
stamp,
shattering
the sacrificial
settings
that hold no
sentiment,
yet remain
a sneaky tithing
to life’s angry
grinder of grist.
©️ 2019.
