ambivalence,

you might have seen it—

lipstick red on lapels,

through merino breastplates,

in liberated buttonholes

these two dozen hours

like two teams of horses

pulling

either way

they tear me up the middle

just what do I remember

when I pin forever-plastic

disguised as passing flowers

above my milky heart?

I’m afraid my honour

will bleed through the dead

down to the horror.

Of course,

I’m blessed to have such fears.

ambivalence—

the colour of embarrassment

that reminds me of a stain

I can’t get out

but don’t want on;

I’m in a fix

because others years ago

died fighting the broken