I, as sinned against as sinning, take small pleasure from the winning of our decades-long guerrilla war. For from my job I've wanted more than victory over one who'd tried to punish me before he died, and now, neither of us dead, we haunt these halls in constant dread of drifting past the other's life while long-term memory is rife with slights that sting like paper cuts. We've occupied our separate ruts yet simmered in a single rage. We've grown absurd in middle age together, and should seek wisdom now together, by ending this row. I therefore decommission you as constant flagship of my rue. Below the threshold of my hate you now my good regard may rate. For I have let my anger pass. But, while you're down there, kiss my ass. Copyright 2001 by The Modern Poetry Association. This poem appears in the April 2001 issue of @3Poetry Magazine.@1 http://poetrymagazine.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A MOTH SEEN IN WINTER by ROBERT FROST ON BRODSKY'S COLLECTED by MICHAEL S. HARPER PENT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: THE GOVERNOR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: AMI GREEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MANY SOLDIERS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |