Braced and ready for any endeavor,
Awaiting the tirade that surely will follow,
Feeling the weight, the pure intent of
Noncataclysmic benign confrontation.
I remain steadfast in anticipation,
Winsome yet watchful of every move.
Measuring spoonfuls of history’s lessons
To temper the spice of today’s recipe.
Brisk to the footfall you enter my castle.
Too late the drawbridge, too slow the gate.
Invading my kingdom, my breached sanctuary.
I muffle a scream; put a smile on my lips.
Maybe today the results will be different;
Gathering honey, rendering fruit.
Maybe I’ll win the Irish sweepstakes
And move to
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