Done

She, more quickly than I, it seems, could see
That we had reached the limit of idle chat.
We were done with minutia: our jobs, our kids,
The state of the weather. Where to go next?
We had to choose. Either we, I swear we were
Pleased with each other, would have to begin
To explain ourselves and the way that we
Felt, or we'd have to stop, and, given the
Dangers of going on, the risks to lives already
Regrettably fixed, and dull, but safely known,
She chose the latter. I missed the signs. Her
Eyes would dart. The silences grew. When I
Turned, she'd say that she hoped we would meet
Again soon. I think that was true, in a way, but,
She also wanted me gone for good, and, in the
End, it was she who vanished. Our story is over.
So is this poem. There is no more to say.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 24 times
Written on 2010-03-20 at 13:29

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