Poems
Poems of Antiquity
Short stories
Nano Novel
Artography*
Home
* -- denotes soonish
Probably because I prefer
meagre extraction to gluttony, I also would choose
Autumn over Spring,
Cold over heat,
A distant and far-fetched mebbe
Over the immediate no,
the length of shadow
over complete darkness.
Does this explain my penchant
for dark hair over light,
my craving for broccoli
over just-as-odorous cauliflower,
or my yearning for the slow
play-by-play of boring ol' baseball
to the supposed thrills of
dunk-and-then-dunk basketball?
Probably not.
But as much as I lean
toward coldness, toward baseball,
toward Autumn, toward veggies green,
there is something to be said
for the warm cozy bedroom,
the first green of spring,
the shot at the buzzer,
the properly breaded cauliflower.
Variety is what keeps our
tastes alive, but routine is
who we are, so we can't help
but feel sad when
all the leaves have fallen, and
the bedroom sheets are artificially
warmed, when the plate is all
cleaned and the person looking
back at you isn't the right one,
and the shadows have all
reached their maximum length,
her kiss and embrace (and passionate moan)
fresh only in your memory, for the years
have dimmed the vibrancy, and
you sometimes wish you could go
back to that one specific time
when she asked you if you
would have stayed -- had she asked
and had you said yes, wouldn't
you be more happy now?
Wouldn't your murky brown eyes
meld back into their milky green,
wouldn't you brush your teeth
together,
wouldn't you slip into the warm bed
together,
wouldn't you see the leaves fall
together,
wouldn't you hear the last crack of the bat
together,
wouldn't you fall asleep face-to-face,
her dark hair glowing in the suburb lights, with your
hands interlocked
together,
with your mouths (freshly parted) smiling
together,
with the secret knowledge that
no one can explain
together,
with the past failures and hauntings
together,
and the future uncertainties,
together?
So many years back, why did you
choose the immediate no?
Why did you leave?
Or why didn't you leave together?
Why take her with you only inside?
I guess that I thought
apart
we could get it
together.
And now it is spring, the dawn of seasons, the
shadow's dance is passing, the baseball bats are
cracking, and my life, overly congealed, is cracking
too, and all I want -- not money or fame or travel or
power -- is for you, and me,
and,
together. Soon.