Today's poem is by Gabriel Spera

Wishbone
       

After the plates were cleared, the carcass fridged
in a chrysalis of foil, the roasting pan scuttled
in a broth of flagging suds, she'd set it
on the spigot, like a stick-figure cowboy astraddle
his tired nag. And when, days later, it grew brittle
as a schoolgirl's trust, we'd face off, each pinching
a slender tine like the daintiest of teacups,
rehearsing in our minds desires too timid
to give breath to, too skittish to risk jinxing
our swallowed hopes on two-bit charms.
And as though to show the power of restraint
and self-denial, she held firm and let me tug,
knowing I'd come up empty when the naked arch
that bridged us snapped like a mother's patience.
It never mattered that I never won, I always got
the wish I should've whispered, the one
that drew us closer the harder we pulled apart.

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Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Spera All rights reserved
from Twisted Pairs
Able Muse Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission