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One Last Poem For Richard

by
December 24th and we’re through again.
This time for good I know because I didn’t throw you out — and anyway we waved.
No shoes.
No angry doors.
We folded clothes and went our separate ways.
You left behind that flannel shirt of yours I liked but remembered to take your toothbrush.
Where are you tonight? Richard, it’s Christmas Eve again and old ghosts come back home.
I’m sitting by the Christmas tree wondering where did we go wrong.
Okay, we didn’t work, and all memories to tell you the truth aren’t good.
But sometimes there were good times.
Love was good.
I loved your crooked sleep beside me and never dreamed afraid.
There should be stars for great wars like ours.
There ought to be awards and plenty of champagne for the survivors.
After all the years of degradations, the several holidays of failure, there should be something to commemorate the pain.
Someday we’ll forget that great Brazil disaster.
Till then, Richard, I wish you well.
I wish you love affairs and plenty of hot water, and women kinder than I treated you.
I forget the reason, but I loved you once, remember? Maybe in this season, drunk and sentimental, I’m willing to admit a part of me, crazed and kamikaze, ripe for anarchy, loves still.

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