Oh, love, why do we argue like this? <br />I am tired of all your pious talk. <br />Also, I am tired of all the dead. <br />They refuse to listen, <br />so leave them alone. <br />Take your foot out of the graveyard, <br />they are busy being dead. <br /> <br />Everyone was always to blame: <br />the last empty fifth of booze, <br />the rusty nails and chicken feathers <br />that stuck in the mud on the back doorstep, <br />the worms that lived under the cat's ear <br />and the thin-lipped preacher <br />who refused to call <br />except once on a flea-ridden day <br />when he came scuffing in through the yard <br />looking for a scapegoat. <br />I hid in the kitchen under the ragbag. <br /> <br />I refuse to remember the dead. <br />And the dead are bored with the whole thing. <br />But you - you go ahead, <br />go on, go on back down <br />into the graveyard, <br />lie down where you think their faces are; <br />talk back to your old bad dreams.<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-curse-against-elegies/
