Duty

While waiting patiently
For another rebuke,
She plans dinner,
Thawing poultry,
Privately packing pain into poetry.
Upon arrival,
He feasts predictably
Upon her mind.
How productive this pastime has become,
Seeds of anxiety perpetually plowed
Into a fertile psyche,
Bud perennially into paranoia,
Keeping once opulent fields
Obedient and still,
The occasional weeds of opinion
Plucked then poisoned at the root.
Ripe growth pressed
Continuously
Into a flatly laundered hush.

~ Roseann Geiger ~

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