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And so the day will come some day from now

when I’ll come visit your wife’s house.

Long after all our long goodbyes

and my last shameful stand and

deep outpouring all-consuming something

fails to take effect.

And after all the last drops drain,

all music faltered, fled from me;

a bar below par after all.

And after hours paced in work,

the ol’ copy and paste,

click, shift ‘n’ white light bled from me

all that was ever good in me.

So what you see is just a shadow of

the former me:

a plastic knife, a butter pat, two napkins

and four feet under the table.

“Some lovely spread!” Same idle chat.

Her family’s silverware, and after dinner

mince is what I’ll make of her

“Isn’t it funny to think I loved your husband?”

“Wow, how we’ve all changed.”

Well. Some of us stay the same, I guess.

 

circa 03/2011