Kitchen Pot
Tears boil inside my stomach
retching away the lining
while I stare at you, waiting.
I watch the storm burn across your face
out through your voice sharpened with your eyes.
I wait for the tornado to dissipate,
but my waiting adds humidity-
condensation from my boiled tears.
Tears that boiled in my stomach
as I tried to outlast this storm,
to hunker down and save my head,
my veins from your gale force hail of fire.
I have to wait longer, much longer
you're no where near done so I'll
latch the bunker, and hide within
these steel walls you've
been pounding on for decades.
To calm the storms,
I've built a robot from my protection
in fear of losing my heart,
I sacrificed my body.
If my suit can calm your molten anger,
I might open the cockpit and, perhaps,
if it is a sunny day, be optimistic again.
