Let’s not be arbitrary about this,
our memories of wooden decks, nesting yellow jackets.
Don’t forget what you always wanted:
this empty sore, this ravenous ache.
All is forgiven, and on its way to being forgotten;
a little more memory goes down the shower drain each day.
Sometimes mine sings as it leaves me:
No more Mr. Nice Guy. No more Mr. Cleeeeeeeean …
Someday, we might all erupt somehow—
but probably not today.
If it’s Tuesday p.m., check out Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.