Call It

You sit silent, insipid,
snivelsome, insinuating an attempt to curry favor
all while you avoid stating what your really feel.
You’re not as subtle as you hope to be
nor as effective.
You could try honesty.
You could attempt a truth.

We are here and I am hearing your words:
the ones you’re saying
and those you keep distant.
I understand, I think
where language evades,
just what you wish to ask.

I can’t say it for you.
I won’t.
It would mean so much less
if you can’t earn the answers
by asking the questions yourself.

I can’t even say
how different the conversation would go
were you able to have borne directly
into the storm where we head.
Had you not the need to steer clear,
could I have smiled at you
with some greater pride
and easier eyes?

That’s not an answer I am prepared to provide.
All I can offer is this:
I know where we’re going.
I wish we could get there faster.
I wish one of us
could seize the day
so we could more quickly arrive
at our terminus.

Please, let it be soon.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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