One Last Poem for J

I suppose that she is someplace, smiling,
Shallow as a Petri dish, one which hasn't
Any substrate, and which is, because of that,
A sterile thing, one without purpose. Once,
It seemed she valued me, but seconds passed,
And, as they did, I tumbled from her tiny
Brain. Who knows what's in it now?
Most likely, nothing. She's a Petri dish,
And I'm the colony of ugly things she
Couldn't cultivate. I'll find a surface
More appealing, settle there and watch
Her face. She smiles, mindless. In due
Time, she'll gather dust, and I'll forget her
As I multiply.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 40 times
Written on 2020-04-02 at 02:27

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