Flying Free

 

Marriage was anesthesia to my soul,

an overdose of entrapment. I was a caged brainiac

living on Third Avenue in a marital straitjacket

while, only one block up, on Fourth, blissful hippies

in tie-dye, smelling of patchouli and some

strange weed, wandered up and down,
as born to freedom as any bird. And I

wondered, how did they ever learn
to be that free?

A ghost of my inner self began to stir
and bang upon its cage.

The stack of Ms magazines grew
wise and tall
and, woe to the status quo, I began
to understand it all.

Helen Reddy and I sang Hit the Road, Jack,

with gusto while my husband scowled.

"We did okay 'til you started thinking

you were a person," he said, and,
in that moment I emerged

from the wasteland of my marriage,

on a leafy sidewalk in the West End of the city,

and flew free.

for Shay's awesome word list - check it out! I used the word axe, too, but reconsidered in the interests of political correctness. LOL.