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The Web Poetry Corner

Wilson Carthage


Naples, FL, Collier

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Wilson Carthage

I am the box_
Stocked on the shopís bottom shelf.
No one will buy me because
My label is plain.
My tasteóperceived as bland,
But here I stand_
My fateó ageó
The inevitable Achillean heel_
You think Iím something less than a man_
Something ó thatís too numb to feel.

I am an insect,
Unfortunate in not finding
The full impact from your foot.
I am an animal,
Near complete in a journey across the road.
Half crushed, but still writhing to and fro,
Desperately hoping to be killed,
Wishing indeed that only I were
Too numb to feel.

I am an old woman
Devoted in reading the daily obits.
I am a drunkard
Determined in trying to tie my shoe.
One waits to die.
One despairs over inability.
I am both of these
And hopeless when I sneeze
For it goes ignored
Like some doctorís prescribed pill,
And lord knows I would give anything
For the miraculous medication
That could truly render me_
Too numb to feel.

My eyes are not yet surrendered,
But you will not see_
I have something to say_
But you will not listen to me.
I am too familiar to fear,
Too foreign to fully comprehend,
But you can_.if you only will_
Iím not yet frozen by your chill.
If you must go_then leave me,
But please believe me_
I am not too numb to feel.