Poem

XXXXXXXXXXXXXNIGHTHAWKS/ Edward Hopper XX 1942
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XXXXXXXXI WON'T
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I don't like to cry.
I take steps to stop myself.
I know how.
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Each time I feel a tear
touching my lash,
I look around to see if you are there.
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Not a chance you'll ever see a drop.
It's the giving in, the giving up.
Let others fall down,
I won't break apart.
I'll never be Jack,
I'm not Jill the tumbler either.
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My neck is white and smooth
Above the grey collar.
I swallow sharply,
throat confining a breath
that falters.
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Control tightens like fingers
maneuvering a stangulation.
I stop short of dying.
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Breathing becomes easier.
By now you know I won't.
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