Anger management

It’s a hot needle that continues to pierce my psyche;
18 more numbers to call
Until I’m able to punch someone
For unintended shows of vengeance
Done in the name of therapy

The bird swallows it pride
In the arms of it’s mother
The postman arrived late
With letters from Chile,
Awaiting my arrival
Once Allende is in office

In the meantime
I let my youth leave me
As did my lovers
While I write tattered odes
To local girls

Spring gardens
In filthy shades
Hellbent on hidden suns
In their winter stars