Your Shadow

Too long I’ve been
kowtowing to you
begging pardon for
the ways I don’t suit your mood
meet your expectations
or wear the right sort of panache.

Now you tell me I’ll never get up
and my eyes sting because
my knees creak, arthritic
when I try to stand.

I grunt and roll over
the asphalt a hot
slice
of anger
down
my
spine.

First things first:
You’re blocking my sun.

Get the fuck out.

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