Adrienne, My Muse

I felt we’re the afterbirth.
The remains of the day,
to borrow a phrase, for
our ermine lives.
As if we’ll enter the encyclopedia
of names, digitalised, so
we’d grit and bare teeth
for this allotment
beyond our windows.

Adrienne, she had been my muse,
and we’re complicit.
So much turbulence but
all one saw was mascara,
a parsimonious smile.
Perhaps we’re only half
interested, making an effigy of
God, and responding to agape,
not quite the same, which is which,
can anyone measure or tell?

Prompt:
So it begins. I’m half heartedly starting on this month-long poetic spree called National Poetry Writing Month. But I console myself that it’d be my last (I always think that). Anyway I just sat down and a poem came. There’s no telling if one will come. Or which one. But you, you can will it to come, can you? While you can, you might want to be coopted into this annual poeming extravaganza. The prompt is to write a reminiscing poem (this from Robert Brewer). Alright, I reminisced. Whatever it is you’re reminiscing about, it must be about poetry, or your muse, okay?
In case you didn’t realize, my prompt is just so you can submit your poem to Red Wolf Poems, and submission there is the same as submission to Red Wolf Journal. Not confused? Good.

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