Always Another Tumble


I’d be embarrassed
for you to see me today,
sick and bloated,
dragging body and soul
from dawn to dark.
I know the memory of me
is cloudy and tainted
by another of my tumbles
in this long road of mine to
understanding and forgiveness.
I’m sorry for that and for
all those times I failed you
and you
and them.

Sometimes I’m sorry
for myself, but that sounds
so self-absorbed
it makes me feel even sorrier.
And so I hide behind words,
metaphors, third-person cutouts
of what a real man,
a man of strength and honor,
should be, instead of one more
disappointment with
a Y chromosome
and no good answer to your

One of those first-draft, still half-asleep, poems that usually get written only in my head, but not on the page. Perhaps that’s why this one should stay there—smothered beneath my pillow.

2 thoughts on “Always Another Tumble

  1. I don’t like sympathy, but sometimes a ‘pity party’ is called for. You get together with a friend and examine how miserable your life has become. You can even turn it into a contest. The first one to fall over laughing with rib stitch at the outrageously pathetic statements wins. 🙂

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