Unmade

Hung up on a hang up,
some things are hard
to get over.

forever sliding down snakes
when ladders are in short supply
I keep throwing the dice
keep trying to be nice
but the anger is building,
I know that
anger like Lego
are mere bricks
from the get go
weighing me down.

I am writing a night is some far
flung foreign place,
my face is a mask
glued to the task that’s at hand.

She comes in with the supper
I hang up my hang ups and
sit there beside her
unglued.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.