Objet petit a

Objets d'affection
are still mere objects.

And, oh, how you make them feel
like the tiny objects that they are not.

As if they were nothing
more than a vessel
made to hold your pretty words
and some skin
for your gratification.

My loyalty was boundless
and born of heart and mind
while yours
merely a function
of genitals, conditions, and
a carefully landscaped distance.

And, oh, how your actions
have always attested
to the fiction of your words.

And still you wonder why
I always say no.

For years
you have cursed
my perceived vacillation
while I have waited for proof
that I was more
than an objectification.

And, oh, how you could have
had me
in any of a hundred moments
had you ever really seen me.

Yeah, you will be indignant
and I will be punished –
avoided for years
while the ghost of
“I would never hurt you”
wafts through my daily life.

Yes, you would

and

yes, you do

and

no, you don't

and

no, you aren't.

You never really were.


© 2010 Marcy Stoeckel

Hostage

Apologies never lodge
in the mouth of a man
whose one
finely hewn coping skill is
emotional blackmail.

The cognitive dissonance
and sundry indictments
were all
the existential protections
he had left.

And how old was she
when the battlements
grew spikes
and she learned about
the trébuchet?


© 2010 Marcy Stoeckel

Just Another Monday Night Campaign

Made weary by futile attempts at
connecting dots with twisted folks
who cannot even draw a straight line,
I have fallen deeply in love with Rufus
again.

It’s an unrequited thing, of course,
but at least he’s here and steadfast.

Bob was an idiot blowing in his own
private wind of cowardice and you
could never surmise why the sad
lady forsook him over and over
again.

It’s a self-interest thing, of course,
but at least he’s here and steadfast.

We made love to the rhythm of
your lyrics but that Incredible one
about a little hedgehog escaped your
perception and here, let me show you
again.

I would use your toothbrush to clean
the floors and drains and toilet but
I cannot endure its existence nor
the sight of it one more time
again.

It’s a just a love thing, of course,
but at least I’m here and steadfast.


© 2010 Marcy Stoeckel