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By jwb71913 Date: 2003 Feb 19 Comment on this Work [[2003.02.19.09.11.4558]] |
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I see it in your eyes, in the photo on my screen Desperation is upon you, you fly to chase your dream, The home and boy are not the package you bought, you had eyes only for me. I knew it when you left the house, And left no trace behind, no stray sock or toothbrush or one of those items women leave near the dressing table. Not a thread of you remains, save for the bottle of lotion Perched like a vulture on the dresser, gazing down at the bed where we shared a passion such as I'd forgotten could exist. Your cries once split the night like jackals on a kill, screaming at the lions who come for the carrion, before they are chased away. Now there is silence. It says much, that our happiest outings lately have been golf, chasing the white ball and swinging mightily. The dream is the white ball, we walk to it and send it as far in front of us as we can, until it's time to end it. Starting over and over, we chase again. Maybe you just don't like my backswing, it's not me at all, but my golf game that makes you shrink from me in disgust, when we pass too closely through the Arkansas minefield. Yet I am held here by choices, while you seek the furthest reaches of American soil, to claim your distance from me as part of your dream. It's Spring, and when you run now you will not return, for your dreams do not include the man and boy any longer. We stay, and every now and then I put some of that lotion on my hands, and remember the smell of you as I sleep. |