The Common Gazelle

Some women dance at every street corner.

Some don't, for fear of what other might think.

Some dance and make others want to join them.

Some women prance more then dance

Some with gazelle like strides, others resemble frogs.

Some gazelles don't know they are gazelles.

She was a gazelle, though
thought herself a frog. Jumping
around the city as though it
were a series of lily pods.

Never looking back to see the
results caused. Never saw what
other could never miss. She
said things like "I love you",
without knowing how it rippled
his heart.

A gazelle can't be told what

they are. He tried writing
her poetry. She saw the words
like a subway rat reading the
"stay off the tracks" posters.

She complimented the poetry,
tried to write a bit of her own,
then leapt off to a new lily-pod.
Still, "I love you" was said. And
still, ripples were cause.

Now, what can be done with
a misdirected gazelle? Nobody
really knows. So, we all lie,
call her a "Common Gazelle"
and ignorantly ruin the title
for those who do belong to it.

Illusion

Don't loose the illusion,
for it's all that I've got.

Don't forget the sleepless
midday afternoon naps.

Don't hate the hatred
when that's all we had

for so long, and perhaps
still do. Never forgive

me for leaving. Or be the
bigger person when I

call to say that I'd move
back. Lastly, don't run

if you suddenly have an
available Monday afternoon

to picnic the way we did
in my illusions of you.