THE ENDING TIME
Seven o'clock.
Morning again! Must get up.
Big day today. Not a welcomed day though.
Who'd ever have thought this could be:
This day would come... could come?
Nine.
Coffee'd up and cases packed.
Just some space ready in my old rucksack
for the final fragments I'll take:
Bequeathed. Allowed. Given.
Ten.
The doorbell rings. It is her.
I fill her waiting trunk with my cases.
We are dancing around our loss -
My loss, her beginning.
Ten-thirty.
Reluctant, I climb the stairs
one last time - and I'm greeted by our two
fluffy feline purring babies
who slide against my legs.
Ten-forty.
I rise from the loving cats
and wipe away streaming tears on my sleeves.
My wife wraps her arms around me
and plants a kiss ckeekward.
Ten-forty-five.
I tuck the last two photos
in my rucksack, and through reluctant eyes
I look around at what was ours.
She says, 'It's time we left.'
Ten-fifty.
I bravely leave our flat for
one final sorrowful time. She drives me -
to the airport, from where I'll fly
away from married life.
Eleven.
Silence reigns inside her car
maintaining our amicability
it's best to gulp back my sorrow.
Leave - because I love her.
Eleven-thirty.
She holds my hand one last time,
gives it a gentle squeeze while looking down
at the floor, gets back in the Prius;
slinks into the haze of cars.
Twelve-ten.
In my seat: Row 3, window.
Climbing towards fresh white clouds of hope.
Below, the grey pain of betrayal -
being dumped for some new guy.
Two-twenty.
I'm a half-hour from parents,
Who'll be waiting at the terminal.
Back home to those who still love me,
and, thank God, always will.
© Griffonner 2021
Poetry by Griffonner
Read 184 times
Written on 2021-12-23 at 10:37
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
F.i.in.e Moods |
|
one trick pony |
|
Lawrence Beck |
|
AFRODITE STATHI |
