concrete

©2005 by Jennifer Honeycutt. May not be reproduced without permission.

i’m stuck like sodden glue —
mired in mastic —
feet heavy as stone boulders.

somehow,
you conned me into thinking
that i need you.

i tell my feet that i don’t need you,
command them —
walk away,
run away,
go away —
but they have a mind of their own.

they’re fastened to the concrete floor,
worshipping at the altar of you.

i can’t free myself.
the concrete floor swallows
my shoes,
crawls up my legs.
your altar eats me alive.

my feet don’t hear my mouth
scream.
my feet don’t feel
the frantic pawing at shoestrings,
the struggling breath
as my fingernails dig into shoe leather.

i’m so far away
from where i want to be —
which is nowhere near you,
or your concrete heart
that eats away at my sanity.

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