Behind the backshed, a worrying malevolence stays hidden in the shadows, glimpsed as the suns ray’s penetrate through the rhetoric, shining a light on all our ‘if only’s’, for a few brief moments.
/
If only Brazen had decided to kneel, bow down to those ‘Miriams’ withholding the ink from the well, & lick the carbon-dated dust accumulating on their threadbare shoes – lament temporarily lost at any cost, for the pen-ultimate facade.
A facade?
Those imposters she once knew, with their apoplectic gesticulations still choose to play their cards like liars & thieves, a charade more likely, based upon contrived lines of which they steal unto her buxom bosom.
Miriam broke her heart!
/
Her most respected iconoclast smashed the gavel into her brain / her overseer’s donning cats!
Both burned into her retina, like a world map on her marble.
/
Brazen sits in the corner under her dunce cap.
Mothballed poetic justice, relegated to a mere diary of questionable truths.
But I know!
I know what went on behind the backshed – you!
The Miriams’ of this world, have a lot to answer for.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved
Poetry Out West 
A few deeper thoughts in this one- not so black but intriguing!!!
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