Popcorn movie...

{The worst movies and the worst relationships
sound very much the same: ill-thought-out.}

When I said I hated you,

A part of me died,

looking into your

unbelieving eyes;

A part of me shaped

like a rodent's wheel,

locked to the sidewall

of a looping reel:

A film too weak,

short, high-dramatic

(where I am the hero,

victim, and static,

Falling on an ever-sharp

sword of good intention

ricocheting off your mirrored

shield's sharp ascension

As you tell me I can

be condescending,

opaque, impermeable –

that, the film's ending).

Such a not worth re-watching

plot – but I had time to waste …

Maybe “I hate you” was meant

for the film, but said to your face.

And in our sequel, seeing

your clear eyes disbelieving,

I realized my first film was

historical fiction (a weaving

Of straw-men under word-

balloons, dolls in place of we,

who should have starred in

a careful, close-shot documentary):

What looked so real,

rendered by my deduction,

was probably mostly

constructed in post-production;

What sounded clean and

played so neatly one-sided

was patent fantasy, for

when is 'Right' clearly divided?

Not even here, where

a childish hero chiding

his seeming-foe notices, “Oh,

below her gnarl, there's love abiding.”

For she is a fool to stand me,

with all the long reels I waste.

And I am a fool, falling time and

again on her jagged eyed, puckering face.