The Cloak of Bold
I seek such simple pleasures:
stuffing stones in my pocket now and then,
or roaring at the neighbor’s dog
when he barks and scares me witless.
“Have you no dignity?”
my lover asks, cringing
when she sees my antics.
But this is urgent business,
I cannot let the moment pass:
I must jolt both dog and lover
into seeing one another
as more than common blood and bone.
It’s up to me, the poet,
to cut and scrape new meanings out of old,
or build bridges where only chasms yawned before.
For these reasons, these alone,
I cast off the cloak of Timid
and put on the cloak of Bold.
© 2011 by Magical Mystical Teacher