Abuse, Poetry

Kenyon Road

We tried a little house on Kenyon.
You bought curtains, some furniture,
And had me nothing to do
But take the garbage out.
It was all you could stand,
You said, “In a male”.

I suppose I wanted
To stack up blocks like sane people:
House and car, flowers and work;
As if I could ever pile those blocks
Somewhere up
Beyond crazy for us.

I wonder now
How I thought that was my place.

That last night, I noticed the lunatic moon
Didn’t really stop at the door, and astonished,
As if I’d forgotten something three times repeated,
Left Kenyon Road.

6 thoughts on “Kenyon Road”

  1. “I wonder now
    How I thought that was my place”.

    So many things Paul…
    I wonder now…
    How did I think they were my place?

    People like to put us in their little boxes… and we come up with all kinds of excuses why we should let them.

    Beautiful Piece.
    Poetically Poignant.

    Like

  2. This poem strikes a nerve. My ex took used MY money from the sale of MY house to buy a huge apartment. It was two years before I discovered that my name wasn’t on the deeds, but long before that he had filled the place up with his abusive 19 year old son, and they’d taken full possession, treating my two young daughters and me like unwelcome guests, and filling the whole place up with the one thing they knew I hated – loads of huge fish-tanks full of piranhas and angel fish. That was only the start of a nightmare from which it took 25 years to entirely extricate myself from. In fact, I think it was only his death in January that finally closed the book,

    Like I said, it strikes a nerve.

    Like

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