Poem: Flowers
I thought to send you flowers
wine and cheese
rose wine and dark chocolates
but you would know
they were from me.
Your still silent self
later when I write you say nothing
how about the weather
and your life?
I am waiting, waiting, for a loophole, a crack
in a wall, a door, an unlocked window
an email, a letter
a sign, checking the classifieds
retrieving email, reading, nothing.
I’m a patient man
and no lithium no tequila
no painkillers, no drain-o,
cyanide cocktail can whittle
the wait away.
I need it gone.
I drink alone in a hot air-conditioned house
while my man legs and heart wounds
are spread all over.
What happened to my hat?
What happened to the street-side
agent, the crooked cop,
the priest?
I can’t, no I can’t handle
the southern California heat
You see, I don’t fancy
these damn long hot summers.
Let’s just talk about the weather.
(2015)
