You were excellent
At placing commas
Like as you
Said they were
Pauses from you
To me kisses
And winks and
Deliberate deliberating sighs
Teasing rather I
Think knowing that
Soon and for
Certain will come
That damned period
Ending all this
Taunting rambling poppycock
It’s being thrown
From the horse
That makes horseback
Riding so thrilling
It’s not trotting
Cantering even galloping
That enchants me
But that sudden
Stark stop when
You’re abruptly airborne
Flailing and uncertain
Where you’ll land
But certain that
You will and
After the bouncity
Bounce bounce you
Then reflect saying
Now that was
One helluva ride
Same with lovers
And with breakups
Oh how I
Do enjoy lovers
But I love
Even more that
Woozy breakup and
Bumpity bump bump
It’s only ever
After not necessarily
Happily ever after
When I awaken
To something new
Around the old
Me like an
Ice storm coating
Everything in a
Brittle tender mask
Weighing me down
And snapping things
Like heart strings
Plucked from outside
Inside making thudding
Dead sounds like
That other shoe
That I’ve been
Waiting to drop
When friends rush
In like tiny
Firemen carrying buckets
Of water to
Not douse but
Free me from
My now icy
Self taking me
Back to someplace
Safe and warm
Sans the ice
Plucking then those
Same strings making
Them sing again
Now with laughter
I love you
Just enough enough
To know that
I don’t want
To disappoint you
Like a gift
Unrequested yet received
One that requires
Unfelt thank yous
I don’t want
To be received
Like flat sodas
Tasty but hardly
Exciting so I
Will exit myself
Here bowing and
Walking backwards off
Stage like an
Actor ignored by
A playwright listless
And useless lacking
A curtain call
Just simply forgotten
With no applause
And after I
Had gathered the
Wood that we
Are and carefully
Built a teepee
Of timber kindly
Added kindling preparing
For our blaze
You handed me
A box of
Wet matches the
One thing the
Only thing that
I asked you
To bring you
Brought something that
I couldn’t use
So there we
Sat there staring
At what we
Could have been
Knowing that we’ll
Never be that
But rather just
A pile of
Old tired wood
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 