Half an inch of water
I’ve never been confused for someone else,
who’s missed a plane to Memphis,
fought with a ragtag few against the many,
stepping forward when those near me don't.
I’d rather duck and run, look busy, divert
attention when necessary, or just say No.
As the rope gets to me, I’ll ease it out,
unwilling to hang alone or with others.
When it is time to stand I’ll watch
from a comfortable distance in a lawn chair,
shaded under the gnarl of a grape arbor,
as the vine grows to cover my transgressions.
I’ll never be a martyr, or a blessed saint,
my convictions are fluid, convenient,
fleeting as first love, only a pin prick deep,
silent in mourning, I will not speak first.