Fact

Here's the fact: on Saturday, I spent
The night out at a bar with my love
And some friends of ours. My love
Said not one word to me, not “hello,”
Not “how are you?,” not “goodbye.”
She would not look at me. My mind
Now folds in on itself. First, I sought
The reason for her silence. Then, I
Wondered why I'd wondered why.
Perhaps, it's a survival skill. If one
Can know why something happened,
One can steer away from it if it
Appears nearby again, and, so, I
Conjured theories to explain my
Love's disdain for me. We'd been
With her mother, who had told
Me not to speak with her. She
May have told her daughter likewise;
Say nothing to me. But how'd her
Mother learn about us? I had thought
We'd been discreet. Maybe my love
Tired of me, but couldn't herself tell
Me, “go,” and had her mother do the
Deed. So many whys, so little known,
And so much wasted thought and time.
The fact is all that matters. There is
Nothing left to us. We will not speak
Again.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 75 times
Written on 2016-06-14 at 17:16

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text