Poetics: Watching the EXIT

by Terry

Given the chance, i'd sit down with death
at the coffee shop---my bitter dark
against his skinny half-caf cinnamon dulce
latte' over ice & after brief small talk,
family stuff & such--ask how he deals
with taking a child

if he goes home & eats a quart, a gallon
of ice cream, til he can't get off the couch,
cries himself to sleep, having left
his teddy bear in the other room

or what he watches (make that, stares blank at)
on the TV; 80's sitcom syndicated re-runs,
Laverne & Shirley, CHiPs, Andy Griffith
& does he whistle along

maybe, change his oil to keep busy
make hard love to his wife while he weeps,
do his knuckle bones hurt, trying to punch
his way out the paper bag or sit cross-legged
thumbing a tune on his ribs to find a happy place,

wait for the sun to warm marrow, tomorrow,
pray between preying, let the cat crawl up
in his pelvis, subconsciously petting his cares away

he'd give me that hollow look as if he knew
mysteries I could not fathom or had reason,
but thought better than trying to explain,
take a sip from his cup, rasp gravenly
'What would you do?'

'I...,'
'I...,'
'I...,' can't find an answer that doesn't begin with
'I...,' sound selfish, or assumes he has any choice,
easier than the next & his hand finds mine
for the briefest touch

we lapse into that comfortable silence,
reserved for intimate relationships,
and watch the door, above which a sign
reads EXIT.

Over @ dVerse Poets, Claudia is inspiring us with the photography of Terry , who is a rather amazing photographer. There will be plenty to choose from, so do stop in after 3 PM EST to get your poeming on.

I am ready to write happier stuff again, but wrote this the last couple days as I wrestled in the after of what happened. Shalom