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…
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