John Swofford

you there

You there, at the barbed wire;

i think you’re a fraud,

and I hate you for it,

what are you doing there?

do You want to come in?

I’m peeling potato skins,

wishy washy after the gym

the Gym? what gym?

My office is my home—

time spent elsewhere makes me

sad—I miss out on too much

there’s always this possibility

that somewhere deep inside

i’ll be propelled into the future

and i’ll meet my antagonist

this death defying old man

back from Vietnam—

if anybody, at this point,

remembers it

don’t know why he’s my antagonist

just because he is, I guess;

he has no appointment to keep,

just the way he likes

don’t keep me in suspense

 don’t keep me in suspense

i’m going to walk away from this,

and, when I do, I’ll be as glad

as the enemy—shot between the eyes

but wait?  that can’t be right!

I don’t condone violence

no matter what—go to an adult,

if you’re bullied,

and, if that doesn’t help,

take as much of it as you can

then an adult, like me, will intervene;

we’ll do something with their bonds

and their self-esteem,

so that they’ll back off,

and take one for the team.

Of course, if they’re in earnest,

i want to help—

but that might mean

stepping down from their pedestal,

and thinking like a team

nipped in the bud

we’ll nip this in the bud

i’m talking about brotherly love,

though i’ve never been clued in,

or, if I were, i was offended;

who am I? what have I done?

i’m glad the archangel

has ascended, for

i’m stuck on the pot,

and I won’t open the door

i’ll stay here

as light as a feather,

weighing grandma’s intentions

shoveling coal—

or maybe i’ll tie a string around

my toothache, and slam

the old rickety door

John Swofford is forty-six and lives in Rex, Georgia. His poetry has been accepted by Blue Crystal Literary Magazine and Blue Villa Magazine, among others.