poetry by j matthew waters

the protégé

michael fancies himself
a philosopher
but the problem is
he’s got no skin in the game

he’s never seen
hundreds of blooms
in anyone’s garden
let alone
inside his own fantasies

how is it he speaks
of the seasons
constantly changing
without ever realizing
what’s it’s like
having to abandon beauty

michael’s supposed
to be my protégé
an impossible relationship
if there ever was one
and already it seems
he’s already seen
twice or thrice
and possibly much more
than my own modest experience
could possibly absorb

june two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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