A Many Splendid Thing
I think of a past lover,
One lost now in the machinery of time,
but that’s just a poet’s conceit,
she has built a castle
where she now rules dozen of white mice,
one of those twitchy loyal rodents
has my face.
Far better to see her
wandering in a maze of sweet sorrow
as she recalls our brief liaisons.
I can write a poem about that,
nothing with her not giving a damn about me
or a day after we parted
dismissing me from her thoughts forever.
No, I will rewrite the past and the future,
maybe get the exterminator to call
regarding the mouse problem.
Clutch my chest
to indicate a broken heart,
think of an ending that won’t leave folks
wondering just what kind of a looser I am.
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