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.