Silent Street
My father passed a few years back, and he keeps appearing in my dreams, always on the same street and roughly the same dialogue. The poem/story has no real format. Just my feelings on it. Thanks!
Silent Street
On streets where past and present collide, holograms ride delta waves
You sidle up, gate light and easy, mid conversation
I Parse the rhetoric for glimmers of acceptance
But again benign, drivel muddles the way
The one sided blather on photography labors uncontested
Your catalogue, a thorough exhibition of you
Fitting. Buried emotions etched in celluloid
Reveling in silent shame, feeling a camaraderie
of sorts
Time is short, so silent I stay
Ears hinged for signs of accountability
A modicum of responsibility
And so I wait...
The pipe store beckons, it's almost time
Fading into the night he says We'll meet up later
I know we will. So Maybe, next time.
Till then, in silent space, I standalone. Apologies unrendered.
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