My Going and Being

Did you wait for me there,
and did I never show up?
Are you still waiting,
after all these years,
with a rock in your hand
and a small grief, a
a small, hard grievance
against me? I’m sorry.
I had places to go
and people to be;
I wasn’t in control
of my going and being,
and besides, you only
half remember me, and I
half remember you. We
each invent the rest,
filling in spaces with
a dusk that we create
where really there was
only streetlight pollution
buzzing as you stood,
holding your rock
and waiting for me.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
And we’re back! For the PAD Chapbook Challenge, Day 19. Prompt: Write an excuse poem.

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