Friday, May 18, 2018

Bad Luck

I waited up for days.
You never showed.


It was just one night
that, spent in waiting, glowed-
With an excitement that surety never brings.

 Infallible as chain link in a fence, 

anticipation, the woman’s best defence. 
Protecting one from being a heroine ...
another from being a wench.

Your hand always plied with equal calm, 

over papers and thoughts.

Discerning, determining nothing except for 
the plausibility of another person's wants, 
While petting your dog.
Or, taking up a cup.

If you hem, I stitch another plot
To meet the expectations of a world

 I know you recognize as fraught. 

Artifacts of collective truth are all we're ever promised.
Ah, to possess the patience of a Ruth, and the doubting of a Thomas.

And nothing is possession except these obsessions that coddle us, cradle to grave. 

I'm sorry for nothing in this life, except the joy I could not save.

Expenditure is my appendage. Yours?
A flowering average thriving.

If stuck between heaven and the deep blue sea, 
I have to say, "I'd rather be diving."

Grappling for the specifics of that hue,
the nature of that incandescent, unknown blue.

Seagulls scream at sun up
The fish are at a loss
A black cat scratches on the corner 

Waiting for a man to cross,
who'll call bad luck his owner. 

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