Poetry

Timothy Balogh photo

By

Estella Wicks

Guilt

Look at me. See how I dress

See my home styled hair

See these shoes I wear

I’m not eccentric

I’m not making a statement

This is the way it is for me

I don’t complain – nor am I unhappy

as I take good care of me

But I can’t share with you

Please don’t ask

My spare change has a home in my life.

You make me feel guilty

though I believe –

begging is your profession

work is against your creed.

Still you get under my skin

you haunt my dreams – and

dog my waking hours.

Leave me alone.

Look at ragged me

This is the way it is for me

Stop asking.

I have nothing to give.

Logic

Simplicity is not the game.

I scream to ease the tension.

Made mad by the certain probability

Brain storming cannot help me

order the creative genius within

longing to extricate with care

ideological idealism only to

crash without warning – frustration

Leaving in its wake uncertainty

of the past, present and future.

Guaranteeing me only one thing.

Increasing awareness that only

carefulness can win the game.

Estella Wicks

Estella Wicks started writing seriously after retirement from Federal Service, and active parenting. She graduated from Cleveland State University with a BA in English. Aside from writing, she loves working crossword puzzles and walking for the pleasure of it. She has resided in Cleveland, Ohio most of her life.