It hangs around his neck,
a yoke worn by a pastor,
a mule driven to oblivion;
it’s scarring touch chaffing bare skin.
The weight of it hunches her back,
causing damage to structure and posture.
Denial cloaked in access is it’s mantra.
Elizabeth Swan’s triggering destruction,
triggering irreparable damage to her life
costing her love his heart.
a golden ticket ripped in half.
He confuses it’s purpose with status.
He flaunts it
feeling a mix of power and self worth,
flashing it at any given opportunity.
She palms the albatross,
making her way to the access point
and is granted quick access.
With a sigh, he enters the building,
his albatross a pendulum across his sternum,
and begins yet another labored day.