Jan/Feb 2012 Poetry Special Feature


by Bob Bradshaw


Must I be as good a role model
as an acorn for you to grow? Don't hold me
accountable for your happiness.

You are not a kitten that I've retrieved
abandoned beside the railroad tracks.

That is why I don't love you. Crying
convinces me to grab my blanket, and leave.
If you were to turn your back, what

could I do but hesitate? "Am I wrong?"
I would wonder. But no you cling
like an overwhelming perfume on a sweater
that I intend to shed.

I never look backward at the rose
which snatches at my sleeve
as if to plead, "Stay, for my sake."

The honey bees are boogying
in the refracted sunlight. The hive
has no knowledge of my unfaithfulness.

Not that I've been unfaithful. But
I would love to share my days with a woman
who doesn't need me to be happy,

someone who finds happiness the way
that she collects blueberries
or reads Jane Austen,



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