Dr. Williams, I Presume

I read Bill. He's going bananas in Paterson.
I know his woe. I needn't put on a doctor's
Suit to feel his pain. The poem folds flat
In its place in the attic as Bill's bills and my
Own are paid, and the woman I cannot
Decipher stands next to me, Delphic?
Possibly. I cannot tell. She seems
Happy to see me, and I am the same
To see her, but, honestly, what do we
Have? There's a picture of her with the
Man she's to marry somewhere on the
Internet, even as there are these poems
Which mention my love for her, poems,
Which Bill, to his sorrow, has said, no one
Has read. She smiles and searches for
Things she can say to me. I will respond,
And we both will sense that there's something
Between us, but neither knows what,
And I'll come here to Bill, and I'll castigate
Poetry, lose her to him, write out my loss,
And be Bill, not in Paterson, here.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 20 times
Written on 2012-01-20 at 00:45

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