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