After the Meeting

After the meeting She no longer returns my calls She rather hangs up her telephone anytime I call save a few mistaken times that fell on deaf ears causing an irreconcilable hindrance to the constant flow of our conversation After the meeting She no longer writes to me nor grant further audience to my letters for which her hypothetical evaluations indicate: were either lost in transit or consumed by the Great Depression and never delivered to her doorsteps… After the meeting the climate of her countenance darken over the spheres of my lonely little world: her soft cooing voice once curious of the viridity of my seasons now echoes like the indifferent shrill of the old screech owl I hear on those dry nights from my window After the meeting She no longer longs for my animal presence as do her friends who call me demeaning names because I bargained for a fewer bottles of beer at the bar than their merits expected of a real man, the virility of my manhood is in dispute… Since I decline to swim with them in their pool of pretence unlike my fellow Proci* vying for the territory of her unyielding heart for this I have been adjudged unworthy of possession and she-my sole witness of fidelity-for whose luxury I strive in austerity stood wordless at my defence Just after the meeting…