Residue Nowhere
On the opposite side of the calendar in my mind,
is Taurus, May people. Jon, Liane, Gen, Mark.
Whenever I forgot myself, they were there to remind me.
And music.
When Mark left, there remained a lingering emptiness,
like a broken leg that would never heal, without me
walking funny. A loss, felt in these trees and sunset horizon,
now flat and matte as a cartoon, something to remark upon
many windy days, when I have nothing to do.
The world is dead,
but the inhabitants -
angry tigers -
pick and choose their empty battles,
they’ve forgotten
we live in grey towns now.
Originally published at https://carolbankswebercoggie.wordpress.com on November 11, 2020.
