poems about brokenness

Affable Chap

He’s an affable chap,
Eager to share an amusing
Joke or anecdote.
He has many acquaintances
Ripe for invitation
To his lavish home
For lively parties,
And to admire the
Fruits of his labor.
He’s lauded as a successful
And generous member of
The community, always
Eager to help those
He sympathizes with.
Occasionally,
Usually by mistake,
Someone will scratch
Below the surface.

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Clenched

Confronted with his own
Frailties, he crumbles in on
Himself, a reverberating
Collapse of ego.
Steeling himself, jaw
Clenched, eyes hardened,
He lunges forward in a
Gnashing display of
Ferocity, transparent,
Petrified by unrelenting,
Joyless memories.

On the Golf Course

In letters to his friends,
As an aside on the golf course,
He voices his disdain for
The leeches, the ones who
Can’t make it because they
Don’t have the initiative
He does, the ones who
Sponge off of others and
Live a life of taking,
The ones he never has to
See as the gates to his
Compound close behind him,
They aren’t as special as him,
He keeps telling himself,
And anyone who will listen.

Like Every Other Morning

He woke up, like every other
Morning, and watched the
Early news while drinking
Instant coffee and eating the usual
Microwave breakfast sandwich,
Muttering to himself that
People should be satisfied with
What they’ve got and quit
Complaining about their
Situations. At least they’ve
Got jobs, they’re better off
Than where they came from.
Nobody ever handed me anything.
Life is hard, there’s no free rides.
The sun ascends above the
Horizon, its rays never
Disinfecting the ingrained
Scarcity of imagination.

The Usual

I remember when he invited
Me over to his house,
More like a mansion as
We pulled up to it in
His chauffeur-driven car.

He was one of the boys
I would watch lording over
Everyone else at school,
Tousled but neat at the
Same time, commanding.

He got out without thanking
The driver, walked past
The butler and motioned me
To his room in some far-off
Wing upstairs.

Walking around his domain,
The sheer excess,
A maid appeared and asked
If he needed anything,
“The usual,” he snorted.

Manifest Reality

At the agreed upon time,
The group meets,
A ritual repeated
Over centuries,
Solemn reverie,
August observance.
Barely acknowledging
Each other, a smattering of
Small talk bows to
The more important
Business at hand.
Intense concentration,
Frustration builds as
Unmitigated determination to
Conquer becomes and
Exercise in manifest reality.
Words acquire barbs,
Vying for position,
A flaccid display of
Misplaced bravado and
Unregulated juvenility.

Could

They chopped down the
Beautiful tree that
Graced their yard.
Not because it was sick,
Or encroaching on something,
But because they could.

Unsaid Things

It’s painfully obvious
That there are many
Unsaid things that he
Needs to express but
That he will never
Articulate because it’s
More important to win
Than to love.

Numb

Like a bunch of awkward
High school students,
They stand around fidgeting,
Desperately trying to one-up
Each other with mundane,
Sleep-inducing stories
About banal experiences
Followed by raucous
Self-conscious laughter.
One guy raises his voice,
Gesticulating wildly,
Hoping the nearby ladies
Will notice, another rambles on
About how big his business is,
Another drinks his fifth cocktail
To numb the meaninglessness.