On Being Emotionally Bankrupt Poem by matthew harris

Sentient beings distraught
psyche rent asunder
courtesy false accusations
heated words exchanged like gunfire
pox upon the house of Deborah Hunter,
a vicious vindictive
girlish looking septuagenarian woman
buzzfeeding unfounded conspiracy
that the missus steals packages
ever since we moved here
at Highland Manor Apartments

force core and seven years ago
July first two thousand and seventeen
thee wife accused
unfounded rumor circulated,
she brought in snakes
courtesy whom I hashtag snaggletooth
blind as a bat
mistook large make believe
as voracious very hungry,
albeit friendly stuffed caterpillars,

nevertheless possessing
an insatiable appetite
for rumor mongers
especially for bony thin
older bonnie lass
or similar facsimile thereof
such as a small number of tenants
housed here at above mentioned
low income low slung building
formerly an elementary school

repurposed many decades ago
into accommodations
mostly catering to senior citizens,
and/or those receiving
social security disability
the latter classification pertains
to yours truly,
a psychologically tuckered out
egalitarian, libertarian, nonsectarian,
sexagenarian, solitudinarian Unitarian

frazzled, grizzled,
and puzzled wordsmith
who knows not why the wife
singled out and bullied, hastled,
intimidated, and threatened
creating hostile living environment
impacting me
indirectly caught in the crosshairs
wishing upon a star
to acquire monetary resources

to hightail out of
insufferable toxic shock
system of the down
slipping into the behavioral sink
suffocating - impossible mission
to catch my breath
brainstorming for solution
while pitched upon
horns of a dilemma,
whereat I shout out

thru the corridors of time
calling Bull Moose and Rocky
my childhood fictitious cartoon heroes
to deliver salvation out the maws
of an untenable situation
threatening life and limb
hankering for life, liberty
and the pursuit
of happiness birthing
nirvana linkedin to soul asylum.