Victor Clevenger- A Poem

It's Worse In Wintertime

 

Never feel
that your
mistress
sits and
waits for
your return
to her.

 

She lives
her life.

 

When the
hands of
the clock
reach your
time with
her then
be on time,

and use the
time wisely,

 

otherwise
the hands
will continue
to tick away
seconds,
minutes,
and hours
that don't
involve you.

 

They all
add up to
days
that will
rip your
guts out
if you
believe
that
you are
the only one.

 

My stomach
has been
stitched
and stapled
many times
over,
but that was
from the
early years.

 

Now there
are just
scars, and
a clearer
understanding.

 

We are
strangers
in a crowd,
and lovers
otherwise.

 

It's a story
most people
will never
understand,

and those
that attempt
to know that
each time
you read
the story,

 

you close the
book with a
different
understanding.

 

It's
subjective,
but so is
poetry,

 

and there are
days which they
both feel like
a noose;

 

throbbing below my ears.

 

 

 

Victor Clevenger spends nights in a Madhouse and mornings writing poetry and short stories from the kitchen table of his ex-wife's home in Carrollton, Missouri. You can catch more of Victor’s work in his recently released book, Broken Bottles and Bus Fare, as well as on his fan page, www.facebook.com/clevengerswords