Nocturne

At 5:00 am on Sunday, almost no one's up
In Omaha. I took three kids to catch a
Train, and, now, inside my car, alone,
Its tires droning on the concrete, my
Synapses start to pop, and disconnected
Thoughts arise, like methane bubbles
Out of mud. Those kids are nearly old
As you. They go to your school. They
May see you, though they wouldn't notice,
While it's doubtful I'll see you again.
They're on a break. You must be, too,
So, are you also headed somewhere, off to
Go play make believe with what's-his-name,
The one you love? I took the train to
Portland once, the bus from there out to
The ocean, to go camping with a friend.
We aren't in contact anymore. I liked
The train. I'd like to ride it with you
Somewhere far enough away where we
Could be alone, and I could feel your body
Next to mine, and you, at last, could say
You love me. I suppose you never did.
I used to drive at 5:00 am on Sundays
Forty years ago. I had another love back
Then, and that one had been consummated.
Is that why, when it was over, I soon
Ceased to think of her? Is the obverse also
True: because I never won your love,
Mine cannot let go?



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 64 times
Written on 2016-03-20 at 12:08

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