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.