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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Other · #817101
So run-of-the-mill.
The last time I saw her,
the Vega rolled down the highway ramp
bounced in ruts, spun and churned cinder
in the gravel lot where we agreed to meet.
Shimmy-shake cough to a stop.

Did she remember our days?
Daydream delusions as John and Yoko
seeing this world through kaleidoscope eyes.
We thought we were special, clever, and free
the subject of everyone’s envy.

How quickly charms change to flaws,
we lasted but two years.
Insatiable, such empty ghosts,
we learned the culture of fear
the anxiety of imagined need.
See how ordinary?
It was money, after all…
We ended as hush tone fodder
of family and friends.

That last day, for the entire world to see
had it been watching,
in paste faced betrayal
her belly swollen with some man’s seed
sucking the life from a Marlboro
sunken in grime grain vinyl seats.
How quickly we devolved to white trash.

I reached through the window of a rust eaten door
signed the papers that severed in final decree,
restraining the rage to hit hit hit,
See how ordinary?

With a choking smoke spurt
and bolt bucket rattle, she left
me one last time.

We were common, so very common.




© Copyright 2004 Harlow Flick, Right Fielder (wolfgang at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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