Thursday, April 14, 2016

The Aftermath, August 1994

This loneliness
I wear like
a prayer shawl.

I’d talk to God
but I never
get a response.

What did I expect
anyway,
for the good luck
to last forever?

No,
our wedding waltz
barely lasted
to the end the song,
and when she left
it was without a tear.

She couldn’t even
fake a tear,
but she could fake
a wedding vow.

Now,
I sit in this
rented room
aftermath
wishing she was
missing me,
but I know
better:

she’s going down
on him,
letting him
spew his hot paycheck
all over her face,

and I l know
someday
I’ll see this clearly,
but right now
I can’t,

so I’m going to
eat
at some other man’s
banquet

and wonder
what fresh hell
it will bring.

6 comments:

  1. Ah! Yes!

    "she’s going down
    on him,
    letting him
    spew his hot paycheck
    all over her face,"

    and

    "so I’m going to
    eat
    at some other man’s
    banquet

    and wonder
    what fresh hell
    it will bring."

    Bravo!! These stanzas gave me chills.

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  2. Thanks, Grace. As I've often said, "I'm not a Poet, I'm a documentarian, and my only subject is me." Glad this worked, because it's all true. Where were you in 1994? I was in Hell with OJ. Thanks for the note.

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  3. damn, Mosk, brutal. and damn good. ~

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  4. Ha, Mosk! You are a poet. I much prefer your kind of REAL poetry to a collection of flowery words that hold no meaning for my ears. I am glad this is the distant past now, but the feelings are all so real and intense. Keep writing your kind of poetry.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Wow. Speaks of harsh realities.

    ReplyDelete