[ final draft ]
.
Take your hand off her shoulder
You
With the empathy of a brass hinge
Playing spine
To one grand plank
Of solid mahogany
.
Were the door
To have her way
Such massive progeny of tree
Wood
Not to be cut
And hung
As subject
To the pushing and slamming
Of lesser living
Would choose
The wall.
.
You
.
Up against the wall.
.
.
.
.
© Ruth Ann Scanzillo 2/21/17 All rights those of the author, whose name appears above this line. Thank you for your respect.
littlebarefeet@msn.com
littlebarefeetblog 
Ooh yes, I like this! Maybe its finished? I like it as it is – difficult to see how to improve on it. Its close, very close! 🙂
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Thanks, OF! – Was considering changing the title, calling it “The Wall”. Might serve two purposes: a.) not giving away the hinge right off, and b.) drawing the international crowds who search for, well, The Wall i.e. Trump – get it?? XOX — am SO behind on your paintings and writing…..please, catch me up??
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clever stuff! Bravo!
I shall email 2moro XX0 🙂
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Do you agree with changing the title? Just curious – value your input, as always…..OF 🙂
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Ah yes, thats got it! Much clearer, and consequently more power 😀 XX
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Interesting. My other friend (who does not, admittedly, attempt poetry) thought it was extranneous – that ending on the “wall” was the true ending. But, I never know for sure what his motives are for saying things, so maybe I will leave it as you prefer for a few days. See how it settles. I’m swamped with music these next 14 days……don’t let me slide! Keep painting, bebs – ! OOX
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