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