Somethings Crumble

In Cold War and Warm Peace

It is not just the cold war,

When you drain the warm peace.

Remember too,

In extreme temperatures

Some things die.

I dread your sudden departures;

I can’t ever seem to see them coming.

Like left hooks and solid right uppercuts

to the chin,

I only hear the glass shatter and

Some things crumble.

If this is not growing up, then

It would be nice to know what is:

Taking all the jabs still standing,

when everything in the belly wants

to stray strewn straight down

to the canvas in a ghoulish heap

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