He’d tried before and baled out.
Friends said ‘He’ll never do it’
I believed them.
He smashed the car’s door locks
from inside
and exhausted his life.
I wanted solitude on a hill
but succumbed to the undertaker’s
headache of words.
Talking with friends:-
dropping stones
down empty wells
clattering
meaningless
necessary.
He followed me everywhere,
freckled grin, wire brush hair.
The funeral began our parting
in the pouring rain.
Glad it was grey
couldn’t face brightness, clarity.
His brothers found a love letter
to his psychiatrist; said he’d see her
in about fifty years time.
Jack Perkins May 2001
Advertisement
Like this:
One blogger likes this post.
Another great post. I enjoyed reading your blog today.
We love to meet new excited writers!
Join Us Today – Writing Jobs Available
Comment by Writing Jobs — January 11, 2012 @ 5:50 am |