Low slung sun
Briefly shaded by
Clouds casts golden
Gilt on the
Bushy tops of
Tall trees like
Shave cream on
My father’s brush
Lathered and waiting
To moisten low
Clouds that hang
Like a five
A.m. shadow while
Daisies yawn and
Stretch slowly opening
Like Chinese fans
This quiet morn
Here in Charlotte
And yet there
I said it
Not the fearful
Three words that
Are pre mature
And often lobbed
As blissful thinking
No this word
Means something more
It transcends one
Into something more
Than two it’s
A conjunction of
Sorts it’s us
There’s your pretense
Like sterling silver
Something precious gilded
Onto something cheap
Giving it value
There’s your opinion
Ignorance bonded with
Idiocy there’s your
Charade incapable of
Explanation and instead
Showing hand signals
Like a third
Base coach to
A hitter now
I don’t even
Know whom I
Loved because you
Don’t seem to
Be true why
Must I settle
For your fuckery
We are like
A River at
First strong deep
Then we went
Our separate ways
Saturating the landscape
With our richness
But like all
Rivers we will
Meet again at
The oceans start
Why oh why
When the message
That I await
Comes my heart
Bleeds
Why do I
Pound
These nails into
My hands why
Do I suffer
So
I let you
Go so why
Why oh why
Do you come
Back
Except to remind
Me of what
I’m missing and
What
What what what
You left behind
We’re done aren’t
We done done
Take your nails
And hammers and
Go on home
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 