©2005 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Natalie Heathcoat on Unsplash

You say I’m “always right.” Go get the rope!
Slap me in chains and throw away the key.
Charge me with leading you too forcefully,
your mind impelled up my unyielding slope
(not even time to scan your horoscope),
bowled over by the power that is me.
How rather omnipotent I must be
to move another so, against his will
and quite without design, perfect the skill
of bringing forth blameless impotency.
However do I do it? All must bow
in deference to the mighty sword I wield.
And yet, one question, if you will allow…
Are you excused? Did you not choose to yield?

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©2018 Susan Noyes Anderson
(adaptation, Road Kill ©1990)

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image by Marya on Unsplash

His cat was dead.

Ours was a garden party,
ranunculus in every color
no relief for
fur-brushed blood
against a bleached
white t-shirt.

©1995 Susan Noyes Anderson

I’m glad my birthday’s finally here.
I’ve waited for it one whole year.

©1997 Susan Noyes Anderson

I’m old enough to clean my room.
I’m old enough to weed.
I’m old enough to go to school
and old enough to read.

©2018 Susan Noyes Anderson

There once was a woman, grown older,
whose man said her love should be bolder:
“In a romantic sense,
your libido’s past tense.”
His reward? The bold, icy cold shoulder.

©2018 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Mosoianu Bogdan on Unsplash

We sit.
She, burgundy chair.
Me, blue leather sofa.
Like so many times
before, days of yore.
She used to watch me,
claim me, eyes love-lit.
I’d blush. You’re staring, Mom.
But I put up with it.

©2018 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Zac Durant on Unsplash

The spirit finds home
inside warm flesh and bone,
taking ownership,
giving direction.
Should the formula fail,
appetite will prevail,
driving action
without due reflection.

©2017 Susan Noyes Anderson

His spirit crawls a lowly road
with little will to rise.
Leaves falling from the trees reprise
tears falling from his eyes.