Vinegar

I smell vinegar. I don't know why, but it
Makes me think of the end of our love.
A thing that was sweet, deliciously so,
Went sour in time. Two apples inside
Of a series of homely bowls on a counter,
Our dank, seaside city, held on too long,
Grew soft and foul. We disposed of each
Other ages ago. The counter's now clean.
We've both moved away, and the bowls,
No doubt, have been disinfected, but, even
With hundreds of miles between us, a trace
Of that odor remains.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 49 times
Written on 2020-01-26 at 23:20

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