about | short | chapbook | home

the game's not worth the candle

ellen orleans

All meetings end in parting.
All that glitters turns to rust.
Better safe than sorry.
Better dirt than dust.

Don’t put your eggs in one basket,
count chickens still unhatched.
They tell me to count blessings,
to put the flame before the match.

Has my absence made your heart grow fonder?
Does my familiarity breed contempt?
Am I the bad penny that keeps turning up,
saved or earned or spent?

I’m the chicken come home to roost,
the course of love unsmooth.
Beggars can’t be choosers,
but what if I choose you?

You’d see the bushel hide my light
if you ever looked this way.
Burn that bushel ? Offer apples?
Plead with you to stray?

I’ve been the bad workman blaming her tools,
sawing branches off the tree.
I’ve put the cart before the horse,
the baby’s out to sea.

I will pay the piper,
if you will call the tune.
The devil’s in the details.
Where will I find you?