To her, I was a vessel

For a flow of complaints,

An ongoing soap opera of familiarity.

To me, she was a gaudy gem,

Ersatz sapphire, an imitative spark

In the dilettante’s eye.

She became the piercing shrill

Of a 4 A.M. alarm,

An ambient assault.

I wanted to halt it, but couldn’t

Because, like a solider

Hauled by ardor,

I had a sense of duty.

I retreated beneath a bunker

Of paperwork and other infatuations,

But the shrill still gongs my ear.

It still snares me.