Was it possible to feel jealousy

after so long of denying it existed

in my psyche, as I watched the young

poet, the woman of words

pour her life into my beaker

on a Monday night and make it overflow.

I don’t find jealousy attractive,

it is an emotional state

that leads to a rotten core

and Hamlet is no relation of mine

and his uncle an excuse to behave

like a bastard.

I muse all night and thankfully,

jealousy is not the cause, to find

beauty in someone so erudite and passionate

about their words, my trouble was regret,

that I had not followed through on teenage

aspirations, of my own desires

and now in Middle age, such

opportunities to have that skill

have vanished.

 

Dedicated with thanks to Jess Green.

Ian D. Hall 2017