I tap the glass, my reflection bowed

laurels mirrored at eye level

A drape of million bells

I was told I should be angry

That I should practice to better this mood

So I allowed myself this slight

Indulgence

never needing use of such a

crude or violent leaning

Now, this angry bent can’t be tempered

My worth as company horribly diminished

Newly christened, I rage in the quiet

distempered on the felled-flower trail

I nod farewell to the hanging garden

all shimmering marigolds and melancholy