The Old Hangout

You'll see more of me now, you bastards.
She is gone, so I must go, the places where
We'd meet have lost their air. They're arid,
Like the moon. My house confines me. It's
A crypt. I'll come. I'll join the conversation.
Say some more (how much is left?) about
The weather. Curse the clowns in office.
Cheer your stupid teams. I'll play along
As best I can as I count out the months
I will not see or hear the one I love, and
Worry that the time apart will lead her
To believe that I was dross, dressed up
To look like gold. She'll keep my heart.
I'm sure of that, but hers could slip my
Grip as I reclaim this sticky stool. Raise
Your glasses. I am back, but not because
I've missed you. It's because I cannot
Stand to be alone.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 34 times
Written on 2010-02-21 at 12:39

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