Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 15,000 daily subscribers. Over 7,000 archived posts.

Sandy Solomon: Poison

The red-faced guard, his scant hair

pressed like a wish against his boney pate,

sat uniformed at the library gate

sternly blocking the un-elect like me.


After just a brief exchange, he flipped

my morning equanimity to rage

as he recited rules. I wanted to pound

the countertop.  Instead, I clenched my jaw


and, pouting, did as he instructed, then tried

to read my book.  But I found I carried something

new: a worm, a warmth, a fuse.  For hours,

that feeling ran like lust through muscle and bone,


my whole body.  Inside my head, I yelled

at him, complained to his boss. Only later

did I calm myself with thoughts that this man

must also daily rage in silence


as fortunate, snot-nosed students passed

his desk and him—the students unseeing, or,

if speaking to him, talking down.  I listened.

They did. Of course, he was  angry, ready to pounce.


And so he soured my morning, anger passed

along, pulled from a well of disrespect

without antidote or golden rule.

Life’s not poetry mostly, but nagging hurt.


Copyright 2018 Sandy Solomon

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Enter your email address to follow Vox Populi and receive new posts by email.

Join 15,741 other subscribers

Blog Stats

  • 4,648,179 hits


%d bloggers like this: