The Elevator Not Taken

Even now, though I despise myself, and I am
Solitary in this chic and stark and dreadful
Loft, I have devised a paradise of sorts, which
Has no need of you. I have the view of office
Buildings, have the hipsters' hapless bars below,
And what have you tonight? Your dull
Suburban mother's realm. I picture you, from
Far away, with bottles, tested on your wrist,
And dirty diapers, and your useless mate,
Who's moved from chair at work to couch at
Home, and cups of coffee to a beer and chips
And dip, and you, appendage, passing with
A child in your arms, and still apologizing.
“Honey, wait. The macaroni's almost
Done.” I'll have the veal tonight,
Delivered, and I'll be the one who's
On the couch, and I will be the one
Who would have kissed your lips,
And let you pass your youngest
To me, to be rocked asleep, but you,
Instead, are lost, and I am in this place,
A lesser sort of paradise for lack of you,
But you, my love, admit it, made your
Choice, which was to follow him, and
Flail somewhere in hell.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 18 times
Written on 2011-03-04 at 16:22

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