Stanzas: Monthly Chapbooks February 2015: Anti-Love | Page 8

You
Aisling O’Connor
We swerve in and out,
of flying insults, smashed metaphorical vases,
and glasses half empty.
Like we’re dancing –
A violent bloody dance.
Who can say the next worst thing:
I love you.
We swerve in and out of our tango,
with the lyrics to guide us.
I hate you.
I’m not graceful enough for ballet
and, my dear,
you lack common courtesy.
We swerve in and out of our scene.
Missing beats and stumbling over feet.
Disaster tourists flock to our spectacle
of cacophonic slurs and insults,
my muse, the sticks and stones are lies.
We swerve in and out
through lighting strikes and hailstorms,
momentarily huddling for warmth,
and separating at each clearing.
Our ongoing feud of love.
Artillery of venom and fury,
I can’t send you letters, knowing
your razor sharp tongue will tear them to pieces
The violence of spoken word poetry
was never something I could master,
but you,
you were born for this.

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