Not to be Seen Again

I shall row out to the middle of the lake,
Black lake, in the foothills, shadow of
The glaciered Olympics, and I will eat
Some sort of sandwich, possibly peanut
Butter and jelly, but probably tuna salad,
As I need the protein, and where will you
Be as this happens? Far away in the
Flat Midwest, and you'll sit by your boyfriend
With PB&J, and I'll sit in my dinghy.
I'll tell myself, try to, that life on a black
Lake, back beneath towering spruces
And firs and unending rain, is superior
To being near you as you eat your
Sandwich and mingle your hands with his.
I'll man the oars as the rain makes me
Lonely upon the water beneath the
Olympics. Look at you marry him.
Look at me sink, tuna sandwich
Turned mush in my hand.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 62 times
Written on 2017-01-14 at 01:35

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