Brookstones Poem by Cee Bea

it was the face she wore
declared and divided
truth was an insidious guest

offered the Ottoman
and a glass of Hennessy
bound by whispers and tipy toes.
it left an odor as the equation
and
it should have become quite obvious
I just did not care
about this fly
nor the ointment

some people
and their Brookstones
driven by some inner need,
kneel
offering novenas
to a god of indignation, ...
that break the back of protected partitions
as if on some mission prepared by alliance.

So I began to pray for

all


not wanting to miss

any


for fear of failure or hypocrisy on my part.

In truth,
while not exempt from a

bruised cheek

I became painfully aware
it was only a bruise
and only a cheek