Three new poems

From the desert
In the eyes of the Pharaoh,
I could do no wrong
until I spoke my mind.
He abandoned me
to the dungeon where he kept
the evil gods
whose spirits, like mine
were never to be mentioned.

Many years later,
they still proclaim
how brave I was
to leave the safety of Egypt.
I did not want to leave,
I would have died if I didn’t.

© 2012 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.
 

Unspoken words
The generous host that speaks
no ill of his guests
but feels it all the time,
will destroy himself
with kindness to his visitors,
until he kicks them out
in the middle of the night
because it torments him so.

© 2012 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.
 

Happy Happy, Joy Joy
Drip
Drip
Drip —
That’s how it feels like,
sitting on the subway,
avoiding a rude jackass’s knee
because his ego is so big,
unlike mine.
I don’t want to start anything
On the subway
with someone I don’t know;
I’ve seen
what happens
On the subway
when you tell someone
to not invade your space.
So I sit there, unhappy,
letting my space be invaded,
as he snorts and chortles at a text message.
Sometimes I wish I were a woman —
women seems to be extended
More courtesy
On the subway.
But I don’t want to be the woman sitting behind me
with hair that pushes against the back
of a commuter like me
Trying to get space.
I move to the seat beside me
and reading my mind,
On the other side
She moves too,
Hair and all.
So I move back,
Across from Big Knees.

In the next train
I am squished between
Two women —
one polite,
the other needing to express herself
Across the space.
She must be from Wall Street —
Because only people from Wall Street
can be This Rude.

Next time I’ll stand
Because I’m polite like that.

© 2012 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.

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