I am
too much, she says.
I laugh
too loud.
Care
as if I’ve always been there.
Leave a little for others to do?
Those who signed up early?
I yell
I am risk averse.
Spirits, curse me down.
Be terse with your actions and language?
How could you forget?
I once knew someone who died of a broken heart.
*
I’ll give you the truth.
In my dreams I stand guard.
Malcolm X style.
No guns.
Curtains closed,
just pose.
Like I can make a difference.
Like I am enough.
Like I’ve got a one-way connection with God,
even though I don’t believe.
I curse his name for giving me gifts
I can’t use.
Time – I have it.
She hasn’t.
Can we do a trade, Lord, if you exist?
A few years from me to her?
Because
she’s done nothing wrong
and I have taken risks,
that, by rights, shouldn’t have paid off.
*
God,
if you’re listening –
You know,
I once knew someone
who died
of a broken heart.
So,
if that is possible,
then my oldest friend can live longer,
beat an incurable disease
by being blasted
with positive words, deeds, actions?
*
No more flowers,
she chuckles.
Geraniums.
Roses.
Ones timed to open
when the others fade.
She has forgotten
the hay fever of our youth.
*
No more,
she laughs.
I bombard
by any means necessary.
Because?
I don’t do wreaths.
Nobody goes out
without a fight on my watch.
My eyes are running in winter.
Our summer times will be forever.
I cry
Too much.
