Say What?

I thought you said, “thespian.” Really, I did,
But I'll soldier on. The night has gone
Wretched. Someone's onstage, playing
Music to mimic a coming apocalypse.
I came for fun, but my tardy confession
Of love was a bust. You've a friend.
I've a highball. I'll make my way home,
By myself, I suppose, as you grapple with
Her, and I'll ask in the morning if
Anything out of this evening proved to be
Worth what I spent. Probably not.
One shouldn't confess, not to someone
Whose words he misheard.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 23 times
Written on 2012-02-29 at 14:32

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