of a lovers' triangle
three-legged stool

warbles like a nightingale, 
"Why alone? Why?"
an emergency test broadcasting
to the tuned-in hood 

that sets curious ears keening.
Is this war?
Is it surrender when Apollo says,
"I love you. Till next time?"

The wobbly little stool leg 
waffles underfoot defying mechanics 
A tenderfoot always triple-guessing its worth.
Insecure foot soldiers can't win medals of valor. 

When the top isn't balanced 
a marble rolls off a pedestal
and bounces along one-legged
without crutches.

Nothing can cure this.
The harder one tries
the worse the wobble 
the worse the warble.

Apollo ain’t limping.
They have two legs.
Silly little fool.
Silly little stool.