Somethings Crumble

In Cold War and Warm Peace

Photo by Joe Ciciarelli on Unsplash

It is not just the cold war,

When you drain the warm peace.

Remember too,

In extreme temperatures

Some things die.

I dread your sudden departures;

I can’t ever seem to see them coming.

Like left hooks and solid right uppercuts

to the chin,

I only hear the glass shatter and

Some things crumble.

If this is not growing up, then

It would be nice to know what is:

Taking all the jabs still standing,

when everything in the belly wants

to stray strewn straight down

to the canvas in a ghoulish heap

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