on lost opportunity

Red ribbons around my belly.
olive branch suspended
by my brow, I walk.
Sullenly, measured, like an unwed man

to the alter to capture my bride.
Unencumbered, swishing her train elaborate
Hips wide, voluptuous with a belly like a Madonna with child.
I am allowed to suckle, to nourish from her wondrous milks.
I become full. Obese with will, pretensions
and breasts become shriveled, a corpses unheard scream.
So I weep, corpulent from her.
In desperation and rage, I tear at my ribbons.
In gluttony and yearning I gnaw at the olive branch.
Reeling and weeping, self-fulfilled failure;
I long to propose to another,
force her to fill my enlarged gut.
Hunger cowls my features, emaciated like like her breasts.
scratching for crumbs, once more humble.

And come the ribbons and come the laurels and come the brides

But am I ready?

* * *

Another Ur-Tankersley poetic effort. This one's traveled a great many years
 to get to appear on the front page.