Secrets punish.

Secrets aren’t kept,
they are stashed

like loot from
the robbery

People collect antiques
fondly save heirlooms
obsess over baseball cards
or Hummel figurines

Secrets are stashed,

holding their value
like so many nuts in a
dead-tree nest of a
squirrel that ends up as
road kill

Secrets are not
coveted mementos
fought over inheritance
nor a legacy proudly
flaunted to impress

Secrets do not enrich,
age gracefully.
make whole
or mend fences

cannot be put in the box
with thrift shop rejects
from the attic

a rare time when etiquette
dictates looking a gift horse
in the mouth, staring
him down

About poetluckerate

I am a poet, writer and teacher who moved from Minnesota to New Orleans in 2008 to help rebuild the worst public school system in America. It is a huge challenge to say the least. Now, after ten years, I have returned home to my native Midwest. Writing - in many different forms and ways - has saved me untold thousands in therapy bills throughout the years. Reading my writings may do either the same - or just the opposite - for you. Read at your own risk, as I do not offer writer malpractice insurance. ;-{) I hope you enjoy what you read here.
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