When the heart’s in slow motion
and toes, fingers, numb
life and love come under spotlights
and so for a time I’m a martyr to heat
in suffering of intense betrayal.
But I know there’s a see-saw
somewhere close by
and my time at the bottom
a transitory phase
and yet, and yet, martyrs can’t quit
until the push-up
of a thought’s heavy weight.
Thoughts are lazy and inclined to be
inactive and slothful and, oh, so at ease
on the ground of supposed entitlement
to keep me in the heat.
So I give them their day of fun;
it’s the least I can do when numb,
and wait and wait until sleep overcomes
the burning heat of spotlights.
And then, and then, I can think again
and push that martyr right out of my sight!