Delivery

Another package of books arrived, Another cardboard box to tear up Or stow away in the basement If it can be used again. Story after story, Big loves and medium-sized affairs and small trysts, I try to find the way I felt before, Yet nothing seems to compare. So I take the knife and cut away, The cardboard resisting my effort Not wanting to be shaped into Useless sorrow. Confused I keep wondering why all paper Resists me so, For when I take my pen to white pages, The same thing happens. My anger rising I force it Trying to make it understand, That there were some nice parts too. Water glowing in flamingo pink and tangerine shades, Little tables in bar alcoves covered in spilled wine, Sunrise in a quiet room with eyes droopy with sleep, Desperately trying to sound convincing. Out of my trance I see that I'm left with Plain brown rectangles of cardboard. That'll teach me to stop Letting these thoughts consume me Restrict me to only what could have been Or was. Until the next delivery.