Parchment Man

If I waited forty years (fat chance,
I will not live that long), who would
I find when you, at last, have pulled
Free of the auger's clutches? Someone,
Ruined, weak, like me? A beaten
Wage slave, drained of joy, uninterested
In the piece of parchment standing
At the gate to say he'd stood there all
That time to be told that you can't imagine
Loving him, or anyone? At that point,
Maybe I would die, and you, so long
Within the auger, wouldn't weep. You
Will have felt your heart stop beating
Long ago. The parchment man's death
Won't have meaning, nor will those
Forgotten days the two of us briefly
Had spent some forty years before.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 116 times
Written on 2019-05-20 at 02:56

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