Poems About Betrayal – Part 1. Canned Sour-Cherry In the Setting Sun

Canned Sour-Cherry In the Setting Sun

I have to open the canned sour-cherry

the last one my favorite delicious dessert

sharp-edged leaves sprout out of the glass

as wrought iron travesties breaking themselves

out from the mirror-sediment I turn the glass

and my fingers foul into the feral stolons

I jerk it back with a shudder it shines on without a lurch

though I’ve protected it from the dust I’ve kept it for

wheat-golden moments for the most precious memories

it’s infected now with mishappen and monstruos

roses thorn- and mulberry-bushes sibyls and harpies

they all suck away the lush from the sweet body of cherries

I wouldn’t dream of touching it if I weren’t poor

as a church mouse and famished for friendship

I take a deep breath and start weeding with an

urban weakling’s laziness but with a true survivor’s

vehemence and perseverance I pull out the slender

vermins from the glass-wounds one slimy root after another

no mercy but it’s no use my hoe brakes I take the diamond one

still no result this crooked glass is too solid and thick the weeds

too tricky I’m bleeding I still don’t give up start pulling with my

teeth and nails no time to argue this glass is only mine

my only pleasure by the time I’m done the sun is going down

the glass reflects the one-eye of the panting sunset with the

city’s smoke-cloud and all that enlarges my loneliness as

a magnifying glass I’m blinded by the quintessential composition

I take off the can’s lid with a scrunch I shield my face from the

stench of the festering tatters I wouldn’t taste it for all the money

in the world I’m standing in the footsteps of the setting sun

behind my disappearing shadow holding with a fake sweet smile

in my hand the cherry can that’s rotten from your betrayal

I had to open the canned sour-cherry I had to I had to

the last one my favorite delicious dessert our strong friendship

now decomposing of your treachery it was my only treasury

and now I let it slip down down down from my hand

I let it be smashed into a thousand pieces on the gray tiles

and I’m panting for the yet sprinkling light fearing from the night

when my insomnia would fall asleep and new weeds would grow

out from these loathsome splinters and cursed pieces of hope

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