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Finally exhausted of arbitrary demands,
the ultimatum came to the table,
slouching, like Yeats’s beast on the way to Bethlehem,
prefaced with “maybe” and “probably won’t happen,”
It’s all she ever wanted: to erase me from your life, while you lavish attention
on her little dog, tell her she’s the only woman in the world,
pay an exorbitant premium
to ensure this house of cards
kills a witch
when it tumbles down.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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