Thursday, June 13, 2013

Draft One, Another Thursday Poem

Commandant 

After all these years,
I'm still not sure
where it comes from,
the word urging a poem,
no, commanding one,
as if it has been damming
up the rest, holding
them behind with its
sturdy back, easily
at first, a light
tensing of muscle,
then with a little more rigidity,
then with the clenching.

It's the sweat that starts
the slipping: one gets over
the top, another sneaks up
holding hands with its
friend, another again,
until they make a chain,
comrades sliding to the other side
in syllabic arms, demanding,
"Lead us or drown."

It never can resist giving in,
giving orders.


Katherine Gotthardt
Copyright June 13, 2013
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