Honor
Oct 5th, 2009 | By Rhonda | Category: Poetry | 547 viewsShe might be his hot thing.
His first fling in the New World…
Hot pants move seductively on dance floor.
She whine up and dance up so…
He feels the promise of more.
Cause mo’ better makes it mo’ better…
He must get her.
But, he’d chosen honor over adventure.
He remembered guts convulsing and contorting.
His Junior Sister’s raspy death rattle
when hunger stole her soul.
Sub-Saharan horrors untold…
He must sustain a lineage.
He had no time for imprudence.
Oh, but she whine up and dance up so…
Sweat trickles from his brow.
Lands on collar bone.
She touches it with finger tips.
Places it on hot, full lips.
Laughs and smiles
one last time…
Moves mercifully
to her next partner.
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About Rhonda: Born in metro Detroit, Rhonda's work fuses poetry and music. Whether it's life, love, loss, self-realization or faith, few topics are off-limits. Her work has been heard at museums, clubs, festivals, bars, schools, churches, halls and a number of other venues. |
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