Sep 142011
 
Neither remembers the stark start
when heart first advised the eyes
to see a friend a foe.

Meals at the table turned scattershot, casual....
Face leaned to books, lipping the small print,
you gazed aglow at your torn, beloved
golden "Dragon" magazine:
chatty advice about how to kill with stealth
or sail the astral plane on a budget.

Every confab folded
at a call from your Philly hottie, Maria;
seminal points left forever unpinned
among the live haywires of hasty love.

Once you grumped home
straight to your pigsty
content to yodel D & D cusses
at a screen filled with terror and fidgety limbs;
midnight found you miserably hunched,
a vulture clawing a mouse.

You click your friends together with a lassoed gesture,
circles of a single color under each pair of feet;
you hunt the haunted woods together,
crouch bunched at each blind sound
and die in the fine faith
of the necromancer's talent for resurrection.

There you were
hunched under the overhead lamp,
slaying evil to exhaustion
but unwilling to do the simple, sullied
work that keeps us good.

The sounds of all the world came crashing down,
pounded from the tinny PC speakers,
an aria of Orc-growls
that crescendoed in a hash of static.

Were you Ulysses,
a grey bureaucrat lost at sea
and anxious to survive into the profit zone
of his misfortunes. 
Every crashing zag
ends in an ascending zig.

Unhappy over your sogged bowl
of Cheerios, you wept to make the minutes glisten,
praying that the twin tracks of amnesia
would cure your ruin. 
O the world
herself was bleak as ashes

that day.  That day
you had swallowed the plot
that plumed with your departure
a blue peacock's outburst fan
waving and waving.

It was months before I knew
you'd said goodbye.



Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.