Days with you
and the footage to prove it,
tapes that stretch for over eighty years.
Six of them
(a windy old gal, you said)
that seemed so many at the time
but now
is a pitiful pile.
Grant that I should go bankrupt
buying enough to fill them all –
rooms of them –
and what should ever have prevented you from doing so?

I hope you’ll forgive me.
Oh God
Please.

I’m pulling anchor.
Please.
Forgive me.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen,
for those who have gained everything
stand to lose everything.
And those that have lost everything already
have lives that are abandoned galleries of regret.

Bother her, I say –
anyone should be so lucky to have such a nuisance.

You have ceased to be permanent –
lance the statue in the arm
and warm blood pours out.

It’s only a matter of time.
Brace yourself.

She’s been there all the time.
Oh God, help me.
Waiting.
Waiting for you.

She’s pulling anchor (don’t you see?)
And she’s throwing things ashore –
are you ready?

It’s begun.
Brace yourself.
Oh, God.

Please.

Don’t wait to put flowers on her grave.
Put them on her table
and do it now.

Filed by Trevor at 11:16 pm under Fightin' Words