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Irresistible



I tried sorrow and I tried regret,
and they weren't for me.
I tried to leave them behind,
but they kept coming and coming—
I guess they'd gotten a taste of me.
Apparently I was irresistible to them.
Now they keep me in their foyer
in a ceramic pot.
There is a small window
that looks out on a garden.
They visit me almost every day.
The more I try to ignore them,
the more often they come.
They don't interest me much, though.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.