I am going to take fear out back and shoot him.
Stand him up against the shed
and blow his fucken head off.
I want to see his brains scatter
gritty and grey
like a cremated body.
I am so sick of fear
want a divorce
from this decrepit old man.
Sick of listening to him
waking with him
feeding him
tucking him in at night.
Courage is not the absence of fear
but moving on
dragging fear along behind.
So maybe courage is the creak
of the rocker on the porch
which continues even as the wind blows
or when I sit to contemplate
what’s what?
If I keep one toe to the floor boards
there is courage
creaking as I rock.
The mound of earth
by the shed
which worries the dog
none of my business anymore.
From Poems from the Chatterbox