The Hunted Poem by Seán O Muiríosa

I’ve tried to move on from this mess.
Accept me for me
But they return, the faces.
Like they need to be set free.

They’re all the same.
It seems one size for me
Fits perfectly. Their curves
Are like no others, ironically.

They share the same eyes,
Same smiles, same clingy
Personality that beats deep
At something clammy in me.

The three of them.
I’ve taken them everywhere:
A rockin’ club, crowded bar,
Coral beach by the sea. You see!

My phone rings. I answer,
To hear her voice, but, which one?
Golden hair? That doesn’t filter much.
A voice brushes my spine for fun.

They are of a certain breed.
And I am their desperate need,
Their vodka and feed,
An Irish speciality.

I twist and turn but to my
Great concern, my world
Is a forest and I am what they yearn.
The hunted, I’ve become.

I gallop but fall
Trying to get away from it all –
The eyes, voices, smashing
Curves and hair and oh, despair!

Demands I'm not accustomed to.
I run from my cerebrum’s voice
That’s booming: You are the chef’s
Top choice for those on a budget.

For those who just couldn’t
And seemingly shouldn’t
Go for the lobster, crab,
Dripping oily oysters.

I am what they desire, as such
When their aching social-climbing hands tire
And they can reach no higher.
Or is it I who caused it all?

Do I seek them out, willingly
Knowing I can draw them out,
Out from their shawl.
Muiríosa, you fool, you don’t know it all.

If I fish any further I may fall in.
So I'll leave this lake, and dash.
The hunted never stop running,
You never know when…

I draw the line firmly, here with my pen.