Laundromat

In nothing but somebody's shirt,
She left the house to sit by me.
That was, when, forty years ago?
Upon a log, upon a beach in
Oregon, we watched the wheeling
Gulls, and ocean waves wash in,
And, though I hoped that time
Would stop, and we'd remain
Upon that log, beneath a gently
Warming sun, the evening came,
Then several more, a handful
Only, I recall, before I had to
Go back home, and she became
Obscured by time. That was, yes,
Forty years ago. Now, strangely,
She returns to me because
I see a shirt.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 20 times
Written on 2013-03-11 at 23:21

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