Poem: What Bothered Him Most

What Bothered Him Most

was not being allowed
to be such a bother,
not being given a chance
to speak anything
as if he were kind,
when everyone knows
he is not that,
when they have noticed him
as he is.  It is not hidden,
it is not behind the sheets and shadows
that he carried and kept up.
It all drifted into the open,
because he wanted to be a bother
and was not allowed his want
and so he was too bothered
to keep the mask of quiet and kind,
the pretense.  It always was that.
It was always apparent
to anyone who paid attention,
as it must be.  He was not good
at even that act.  Nothing
was good about it,
just like the rest.
A rotten tree
never yields
a sweet, ripe fruit.

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