Haze

I'm going to say the dreary air, and not
The bourbon, not the parallels, propels
Me down the bullet track into the seventies,
And all the pining I did then: the afternoons,
Asquirm, at once discomfited, almost within
The grasp of Molly, my first love, beside her
Husband, my best friend, the one she wanted,
At my side, possessed of greater charm than I;
The sweaty march to find the one I'd come to
Love in combat boots and overcoat, who'd
Disappeared from class, where we, two losers,
Sought to learn a trade; I reached her in a
Dump apartment, lived with her a couple years,
Was tossed, came back, and then I left her;
Later, she, who is my wife, I chased among
The aisles of the warehouse in which we were
Working. She was barely out of school.
After she had been worn down, I moved into
A shack with her. I've moved and moved
For thirty years, and, now, beneath this dreary
Sky, a bourbon gone, a set of tracks, which seem,
At first glance, parallel, return me from the
Seventies, and take me to another love, who
Wasn't born when I was young, and seems
So unattainable as those sought long ago.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 47 times
Written on 2015-02-26 at 11:53

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