Poems of a Young Man: “The Day After”

.

The morning fog

is a smooth river of haze

that pours over the top of the back yard fence

and falls upon the kitten

my sister and I are watching.

This morning:

fog

coffee

laundry

and a hungry typewriter

thirsting for a sheet

of deliciously vacant paper.

I touch them all

and provide the narrative that gives them story.

Sleep persists

crouching in the corners of my eyes,

reminding me of the night before:

the long, late hours

scribbling it all down-

253 pages

and every one of them

a terrifying revelation,

every word an unexpected jolt!

And the biggest surprise?

Tracy!

A fountain of pleasant delights,

this new woman plays her tricks

with me

for me

on me:

the volunteer from the audience.

I am the furniture for her conjuring

like a trick cabinet

for sawing a lady in two.

So few, the times we were

together.

I had to recount them all

up to last night-

that night of the reoccurring nightmare

my birthday.

I blew out the lone candle

on her lopsided coconut cake,

friends flickering faces

gathered ‘round

and her beaming smile

outshined them all.

Last night, we felt so close.

 

But now

it’s the morning after,

and our future seems as cloudy

as Everest

on a turbulent day.

shrouded in fog.

.

(10- 17- 77)

ALL RIGHTS RESRVED

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About KPKeelan

Fool, Philosopher, Lover & Dreamer, Benign TROUBLEMAKER, King and Jester of KPKworld, an online portal to visual and linguistic mystery, befuddlement and delight.
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