Plucked Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

I'm sure you've seen a man
in hot debate or
roaming lost in thought,
as in a trance
reach out,
snap up a bud to mutilate,
then quickly toss it off
without a glance.
Did you feel empty,
desperate,
deep despair?
Or was it boredom, rage,
frustration, fear
that made you kiss me
more that I could bear
and leave me,
with this bruise
beneath my ear?
I mean,
why bother reaching out to me?
Why crush me close
and then run on your way?
I sought to give you joy,
but could it be your joy
arose from feeling
my dismay?
That bite left on my neck
will cease to smart,
but what about
the hickey on my heart?