Poetry

Transitions

Old boyfriends

Our minds drift off in the middle of the day or
maybe early evening,
prodded by a piece by Joyce Carol Oates in the New Yorker,
or Couperin’s Balustrades on the classical station.
And we remember them deeply,
think we might try to find them, and
hope they might remember us.
Though we know,
we were not even present to them at the time, and
definitely not now.

May 09

Anticipation

We expected such a show,
The end of day …
layers of clouds locked into place
threadbare in anticipation …
Perhaps the sun gets weary too.
All it did was splotch the sky and leave.

Jun 08