Looking Through Stained Glass

susurrus eye
CLOSETS

He hangs up the latest hand-me-down
Something else his brother has outgrown
Hating his brother’s favorite of ordinary brown
Grateful at least his underwear is his own
Mike dreams of the day of going uptown
And the price tag is for him alone

She steps into the enlarged paneled room
Where Manolo & Versace jumped to her call
She covers the self-loathing she consumes
Hating her reflection on the mirrored wall
Casting aside yet another custom made plume
Victoria complains of nothing to wear at all

Crashing glass wakes Jenny from a dream so sweet
And knows Dad’s drunkenness is profound
The lumbering sobs signal her mother has just been beat
She won’t be protect from this newest round
Tears blur the pastel characters on her sheet
She takes the pain without making a sound

Knowing all his habits to the “T”
Leslie’s watches him undress as before
Patiently waiting, naked as you please
For the look of surprise when he opens the closet door
Even as his Uncle swears, this won’t continue to be
Leslie’s not stopped as he kneels on the floor

She cries out and bangs on the locked closet door
Desperate not to make Mommy sadder
Fearing a worse repercussion if she did it “once more”
The frustration makes Shelly madder
As she clutches Big Bunny and clears a spot on the floor
And finally loses control of her bladder

Prejudice is an injustice! Fight for Equality!
Public words Rick’s parents have always touted
Having lived in a home of hypocrisy
Their true feelings he’s never doubted
Hoping his loves endures the difficulty
Of his fear of being outed

The commissioner blinks hard as sweat gets in her eyes
But Marlene can’t stop to wipe them away
She will reappear in a few moments with refined lies
“Oh I’m just a little under today”
But right now she desperately feels for hidden supplies
Her jonesing having the ultimate say

To judge in this age is not for us to call
The clock ticks on our own souls’ debts
Whether made of the mind or a physical wall
The secrets who can say better yet
The susurrus to which we all befall
In smiling silence of our own closets 

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raivenne@theraivenne.com

© 2005 Raivenne (All rights reserved)

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