What a tawdry, puny thing

My heart must be

For more than 50 years

I’ve offered it up repeatedly

Only to have it dismissed

Sometimes gently

Politely

Sometimes in scornful derision

Sometimes with laughter

Sometimes with the annoyance of tedium

Sometimes in vexation

It always seemed so much bigger to me

Than I suppose it actually is

Inside me it looms large

Beating me to its rhythm

Hammering inside me

In the same tempo for both joy and fear

From it came forth

Words, poems, flowers, gifts

Roses, chocolates, cake

Laughter, love

And ever more words

Each time I have offered to share it

And each time it was returned

Unused and unwanted

Sometimes with Thanks but no Thanks

Usually with little more than pity’s smirk

Each time just a bit emptier than before

I thought it a moveable feast

But the dishes go untouched

Seasoned to no one’s taste, I guess:

Sorry, but I don’t care to partake

The feast is nothing but leftovers now

Are you sure you won’t try just a bit

Of my heart?, I say

No thanks; not for me

Maybe you should just feed it to the dogs