How Soon Do I Let Him Go
College? Who needs it? Shut the front door!
I’m head’n out west to be a movie star in a bit.
Keep look’n at fan magazines; I’ll be on the cover.
I’m gonna’ be famous, I guarantee it!
A relationship of two years and sixteen dates means nothing?
I thought we had roots; I thought he was mine.
Crying into my pillow, I think he’ll surely come to his senses!
I thought we had this going; everything was so fine.
It’s a nightmare I think, he will soon come around.
On a Saturday his mother tells me he has taken his guitar.
His thinking is crazy, he is Hollywood bound.
He’s on a bus for L.A., to follow his dream and a star.
A guitar! He cannot read music; he is not musical at all.
Thought he wanted to be a TV star, I say stupidly.
I am shocked, horrified, I nearly collapse over and fall.
His mother shrugs her eyes, wanting to get rid of me.
I go back home and crawl into my tiny lonely single bed.
He’ll be back in seconds, I think. He has only three hundred bucks.
Out in the big city, he’ll trust the wrong person, maybe wind up dead.
He calls me collect. His phone is off; speech punctuated with s.
I beg him to come home, say let’s get married, do things right.
Married! He scoffs. I just had you around for kicks and for laughs.
My speech is slobbery, I am crying, not understanding his plight.
He has moved in with wild crazy Jasmine, who collects toy giraffes.
I think to myself, this is not my sweet, tender loving guy at all.
Part of me refuses to give up on our dream of what I want him to be.
He has truly fallen off the pedestal, and it’s fallen off the wall.
I hold on to him for years, the handsome prince who always rescues me.
He calls me often at first, giving me hope each and every time, for sure.
I need my man, the prince, the one I thought would carry me away.
Try to act coy, but my emotions kick in and I beg him for a cure.
It has been thirty-six years now, I guess Hollywood he will stay.
Is it time to tear down his photographs? Time to throw away his shoes?
I am wailing and sobbing now at all the time I have spent on him.
What if I burned his plaid shirt and he came back tomorrow, then what?
I crawl into my bed, wishing hard at the edge of my hopefulness rim.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2020
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