The Fall Guy -by Robert Gardner

Metaphorically trapped in the so-called dance
Of another fine and apparent romance,
He dragged a backpack of mis-information
Through a desert he called ‘the perfect vacation’,
With the best intentions and superstitions
To find the gold of better transitions
(But nothing an angel would call ‘provisions’) –
Now assuming the past would linger behind,
Or if it appeared, would try to be kind,
He chewed the last of a melon rind
And told assumptions to conquer his mind
And even his power to act and resist,
Then he stumbled just once,
But the weight of his pack
Took him to the floor of a sunless cliff.  

Author: Emma Beane

"My history is still one of those mysteries I struggle with every day..." - [ebeane] ... All original works Copyright Emma Beane

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