A good hallway doesn’t give away the sound of footsteps
as they come ever closer
to your noxious chatter, whispers with heads bent
together, like a two-headed snake with a forked tongue,
and you might strike if you saw me standing there
but you prefer to strike when you think I’m not, a knife in the back,
maybe because it fits better there, unlike the dress,
the one that hangs in the closet because it’s the only place
it had to hang its heart.
And the heart and head get all mixed up,
convinced there’s no misunderstanding
of the venom that drips from your lips,
convinced you must be talking about someone
else’s dress. It couldn’t be mine.
But it’s the only one there,
sandwiched between the much more stylish ones that would fit
a two-headed monster.
NaPoWriMo Day 21 – write a poem that incorporates overheard speech.
Poetic Asides – write about an object.