A Detour That Ached Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

A lot of things hurt:

A dagger to the chest,
A malady,
A sepulchral bite
From a bug,
The howling moon,
The sound of kindred
Arguing over lost things,
Broken things, dysfunctional
Liaisons.
A corrosive spit of the Sun.
An avalanche of nostalgia.


I could go on with this list,
And you’d cross out
The things that you have
Coiled with your frail arms
While you are soaked
In tears

But what hurts the most
Is to hear

An allure from a siren,
Striking the chord of each
Sanguine song.

I am supposed to be
Led into you, dear siren
But you turned the tides.

I am sea-sick,
And as the captain of this ship,
I will take a well-calculated,
And well-mannered exit
Away from your turbulent seas

Of enticing wails.

Your wails break me.
They should have been
Beautiful.
What a beautiful mess, this is.

I’ve not the strength
To bastion myself
And crumble

By the mere allure
Of your wail.