The Skirt


You laid your plaited skirt
on the foot of my bed,
neatly folded as though
in doing so you could somehow
retain your virtue.

In the midst of our fleshy thrashing,
I kicked it to the floor, and you began
to cry, deep sobs that rattled
the mattress springs.

I moved, too reluctantly, to retrieve it
but you said, “Why bother? You’ve ruined it.
You’ve ruined me. You’ve ruined everything!”

Making love doesn’t always
mean making sense,
and so I threw my feet to the floor,
pulled on my jeans, and looked back,
although I would never be able to see.

“So that’s it?” you sobbed.
“You bastard!”

I smiled In affirmation, buttoned my shirt,
and turned toward the door,
and as an afterthought, picked up
your once plaited skirt, tossed it
carelessly over my shoulder,

and left.


10 thoughts on “The Skirt

    1. You always leave awesome comments that tell me you really did more than just read a poem. That is awesome, my friend…and motivating. (BTW..this is autobiographical…I actually did this)


    1. Thanks Sheri. Hope your previous work in mental health reform did some good..I suspect reading my work you imagine I am in dire need of assistance in that department. LOL ~Dennis


      1. That was so long ago…but had to be written. It is the path of my life…experiences that color the inner canvas of one’s latter creativity. I can’t apologize for reveals itself in strange and wonderful ways…not all good.


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