My Own Puppet

by Michael Lee Johnson

Beaten down by
my own puppet
drawn up by my own strings
I don’t know what to do
with myself but hang loose.
I am a swinger of words and loose conditions.
My fingers hang limp like impotent genitals.
My puppet bows her head with nothing to show for.
A curtsey before her king who has somehow
misplaced his private crown of jewels and golden rings.
Such a humble act, a dancer of sacrifice
lacking joy, but long term the commitment lingers.
Gallant of her victory in void
she smiles with disgust.
Nothing drips from her face but tears.
I am a swinger of words and loose conditions.