Holding the Bag

Holding the bag
again
mired in the politics
of love and restitution;
a new house would indeed
be too kind
but not kind enough.

It was a good idea
once
only through stained-glass
horn-rims,
ill fitting on the bridge
of a sweaty nose
of a sweaty idea
obscured by the steam
of revelation.

I bought it
now I hold it
in my blue hands
waiting for the bus
to the house
I never wanted.