Desdemona and the Bull

And is it any wonder that I think

about the problem, that I think about

the pattern? Your denial is an ink

blot that has stained my soul and still you flout

your honesty before me like a cape

before a bull. Am I suppose to stand

and simply watch you, simply stand and gape

in stupefaction while the sword is fanned

in front of me? You over estimate

the bull’s stupidity and pain, my dear,

when you rely upon your guesstimate

that I can do no harm. Before you steer

me to destruction, pause a moment. I

might swerve and follow you before I die.

Piedmont Literary Review and In Raspberry Gulch