They-
wanted me to fail-
expected me to-
secretly
suffer.
They
believed him
who spoke in tongues
dripping with alcohol-
venom-
or temptation.
They
assumed some-
thing some-
one else
knowing naked and shorn
They
could never make it through
the frozen nights
of solitude.
They
estimated-
were mistaken and
some, like me, would say
unlucky
betting on the black sheep
betting on the lamb
who is the wolf
you feed-
and the bitten hand
that continues to write through the pain.
Painting by William Sidney Cooper, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
