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Month: August 2016

The Restaurant on 8th Avenue

The woman tucked into the corner table
is waiting for her date, I’m guessing.
She looks at me then back to check
her watch and picks up her phone.

She could be wondering what if
I might have gone out with another
or I might have married five years ago
or I’m middle aged and can’t do this scene.

Twenty minutes later, I pass on my way back.
She is chatting and laughing and does not
look at me and has no clue nor would she care
to know why my heart is screaming.

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*Poet’s Notes:

WARNING: Don’t confuse the artist with the art. That’s the proof of genuine art — if it transcends the merely personal.
(I’m not in distress of any sort. ;-))

Written while on a walk on 8th Ave. Smallish paper was in my wallet.

A pic of the original draft is below. If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment (further) below.

new doc 114_1

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Vengeance*

 

We played “king of the hill”
on top of great snow mounds
with trashcan lids for shields
firing icy snowballs
broadside at unlucky heads.

When the weather opposed us
we fought “king of the bed”
pulling and pushing grapplers
off a mattress until we dented
the wooden floor with falls.

A game of constant conquest
to rightly subjugate
deserving fraternal foes
who cried then sulked and plotted
tomorrow’s rightful revenge.

It has taken time to unwind
a long invisible gauze
wrapped around my soul
to stop this savage game
for any reason, in any season.

 

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*Poet’s Notes:

I grew up with 10 brothers and 2 sisters. Interacted with too much of the former and not enough of the latter. 😉

A pic of the original draft is below. If you feel strongly about this poem, leave a comment (further) below.

Vengeance

Please like & share:

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