The Surgeon’s Lament

                    Like a knife against a sharpener's stone

                    my presence wears on her abrasively

                    sharp from her disdain    I'm yet a dull bone

                    for her dog    she scorns me derisively

                    and now she tells me   for her   I've grown old

                    she means I'm boring    I don't turn her on

                    she means   I’m sure    she's found others less cold

                    I was always left hot from her friction

                    I doubt she kens her keen impact on me

                    surely she must   for she's kept all my gifts

                    unwrapped    unread   one day those books will free

                    her from grief    the facts    how to get face lifts

                    So I'm a love-sick serious surgeon

                    if only her nose had not led me on

                © Dick Russell, 2013