Meal (an acrostic poem)

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Making food always made him feel both happy and sad.

Every morsel that left his kitchen was a love note to those who ordered it.

A loving response was an empty plate that came back, ready to be cleaned for a new missive.

Leaving food on the plate meant rejection and left him wondering what went wrong.

Ash (an acrostic poem)

And the fires of rejection and hatred consumed his heart

Slag remained after the flames died down to embers

He left her, and the ruins of his life, behind as he staggered away

 

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Bounce (an acrostic poem)

Boing, boing, boing went Maurice’s heart down the stairs

Outside he kept his happy face pasted on

Underneath he was screaming and sobbing uncontrollably

No one had told him how to handle the rejection

Counting to ten he smiled weakly at the cashier

Everything had to be put back because his checking account said so

 

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