This False Compare         poems by Andrew Cox August 2019

For Truth Proves Thievish for a Prize So Dear

Shakespeare, sonnet 48

What we wait for comes home with her many faces
And her secrets like fat apples that wait in a bagĀ 
With the promise juice will run down our chin
But we do not understand what happened
Or what we did to make her panic
And pull to the side of the road in dread
And it does not matter our sadness the rocket ship
Blew up in midair making heroes of all it contained
Something she went through the paste called the past
Said in its steady voice nothing will be the same after this
And not twins nor the house suffering from dowdiness
Can make the trajectory of a car on a highway
Take any course but home and what waits there
Us ready to talk and hoping it won’t fall on deaf ears

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