Bad Luck

I waited up for days.
You never showed.


No. 

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, a 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.