Given the Choice

One doesn't pick a love the way
He'd pick some fruit or an
Appliance. If one could, where
Would I be? Not here, alone
And out of sorts. I might be
With an older woman, one
Whose kids are grown, who's
Gotten used to being independent,
One who'd openly express her
Love and seize her share from
Me, and we'd be seen together,
Holding hands and going
On and on about our pasts,
Our joys and sorrows, over
Coffee somewhere, unconcerned
By all of those who see. Yes,
This would be the sort of love
I'd have if one could love by
Choice, but clearly one cannot.
Love blows up like a summer
Storm, and upsets all one
Had in place. The table tips,
The dishes fly. A cold rain
Comes from sullen clouds
Which take away the light,
And one, if I am him, grows
Out of sorts. The gale has
Brought me someone young,
Half kid herself, not independent.
She dares not express her love,
And only slyly, like a thief,
Will take her share from me.
We rarely talk. We can't
Hold hands or let ourselves
Be seen together. Coffee's
Out. All we have got are
Greetings, smiles, longing
Glances. Pelted by love's
Icy raindrops, leaning to
Withstand the wind as
My life's wreckage blows
Around, I look up. Once
Again, she's gone. I find
Myself alone, and not by
Choice.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 71 times
Written on 2016-01-11 at 10:30

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