Lori is aware her reputation
changes dramatically, depending on who she is with.
She is not with the Sunday go to mass crowds
with their incredible capacity to feel shame.
Rarely she is with those for whom
heavy metal drives red blood cells back to the heart.
Voice hoarse from screaming at low hanging clouds
to expose the bloody face of the rising moon
she digs a hole at the end of the line of many holes
filled with diary pages she wishes to bury.
Lori carries herself tall
unashamed of the whispered gossip about her—
of mismatched lovers and breakups
and unmet hungers gnawing at her bones.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 