A Silhouette

There's a place, a city, or, maybe, a tropical island,
To which his ex-lovers all go. They go with their
New loves. It's placid by day, festive and wonderful
After it's dark, and the women he worshipped, and
Those they're now with, will be happy forever, as he'd
Hoped he be when he thought they would go
There with him.

There's a window which looks out at nothing,
A wall, in his dismal apartment. A pan of cold
Pasta sits on the stove. He laundry is done.
He sits and he folds it, bathed in the light
Of an unwatched TV. He wonders why
Love is so hard to accomplish. No one
Can tell him. Nobody is near. All his
Lovers have drifted away.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 135 times
Written on 2019-08-23 at 01:44

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