Today's poem is by Todd Swift

The More Deserved

We know nothing better than what
we never get to call our own, space
it should be filling, its masterful lack.
We marry our unachievements, make

resentment a second home: a garden
we keep out back, for little pleasures.
Her ring slipped off a finger, the line
slack now at the bottom of the ravine,

promotions passing overhead like jets:
the day we least deserve grand failure,
we will receive it at the door, delivered
by gloved hand, tipping for the letter.

Copyright © 2003 Todd Swift All rights reserved
from Café Alibi
DC Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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