Self-Tapping Screw
Patricia Walsh
​
​Some prophecy fulfills itself
in a tawdry bedroom miles from here
burrowing through bedclothes borrowed,
on top through shortcomings muttered.

Sidling naked between chambers,
late night snacks par for the course,
finding spots of endless pleasure
to be of service is really enough.

Sinking bottles for decorum,
not lying down in comfortable pubs,
or dingy holes favored by you,
cheap alcohol never running dry.

An innocent bed and breakfast harbours me.
Not wishing to know accidents therein,
fumbling through clothes to a higher order,
counting through effort to a failed end.

You would have a logical climax, wouldn't you?
Bolster your assumptions of a godly end.
Praying for your children to follow your lead
far away as they were, unpaid for.

Died disappointed, unfulfilled,
eschewing the right woman on back of receipts
the dingy buildings assuage your failure
to hear the word 'no', stall your longings.