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PLAY IT MY WAY
by Judith K. Witherow

Woe, Lord,
here comes that
searing, soaking
sadness again.
Great puddles
of teardrops do
the Texas two-step
out the door
and cascade down
the salt pocked
sidewalk.
Someone bring me
ALL those Al Green,
Buffy Sainte-Marie and
Etta James CD's.
I need walking,
wailing, sitting,
sobbing ballads
to match my mood.
Nothing lite could
possibly ease or
set me free.
These Shamans help
me ponder living,
dying, or merely
wanting to survive
your leaving.

  

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