You look so handsome with your sane suit on.
No one can see the rage from here
or imagine the kiss from your simple country lips.
The jury dismisses the broken branches.
A smile and a handshake later
finds you wound up and broken down
in your work room.
Looking for a handle, a clasp,
something to hold onto
without association.
© Sonja J. Johnston 4-27-2008
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