Self-Portrait

I know I’m in your way,
a coat rack that you
blame for bruises,
a lampshade that you
bump at night.

I know that you don’t
find me useful,
I know and yet I wait.
I wait and spill cream
on your sweater,
If you won’t love me,
I’ll take hate.

I wait for you to take my key,
and shove me out the door.
Instead, you treat me
like a portrait
hanging on the wall.
Something barely
noticed, something
you acquired.

published in Duck Head Journal


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