The Real Bourgeois
—a poem by Grace Connolly

His hand had been forced by the lack of doors
decisively he had lacked common sense for the better part of his days
at the cave he was left to fill in the gap that laid underneath with only his own blood
he had gone on a spiritual retreat to learn about sacrifice

here our hero hurdles faults he had grown to expect commonplace
the pains of a thousand warriors fill the room with abandoned ideals
when he approached the city during his return not one person came to greet him
indeed they had long forgot he had even left at all 

he had news and bore scrolls which he deposited in the city center
stories filled the air around him but the people stayed away and murmured “”Foreigner”
when he looked in the mirror he saw how his dress had changed

a blazer with an embroidered heart he was now dismissed as the real bourgeois

Grace Connolly lives in Harlem, NY. She currently studies at the UCLA writers extension and has been previously published by Blazevox, Scars Publications and numerous blogs. She enjoys road trips and playing ball with her Patterdale Terrier.