Sunday, January 24, 2016
Wordsworth
Entirely by accident or Fate?
They meet after a year. She has
softened, and would no longer
say such vicious things.
And he would check his thick head
at the door!
Now the old sickening chaos of their both bolting the apartment at once! hung in the present air.
Neither in a relationship presently, though
the recovery period was over.
Both made excuses not to, but they
ended up in their Chinese Restaurant.
Where the waiter looked puzzled,
but said nothing.
The evening went well, if hurt still tugged.
Until. "How is Wordsworth?" asked he.
The most devastating question possible.
"I thought YOU took him!"
“Well...” she finally concluded in tears,
“somebody adopted him or he’s dead!”
“When you came back for your stuff,
he wasn’t...?” He had to pin it on her,
guilt too horrible.
The evening ended. Both too shaken.
Wordsworth not deceased, but feral.
A table in a cramped room off the kitchen,
where the waiter left plates, before scraping
the contents into the trash.
Wordsworth, gray rail, squeezed in
nightly from the alley, but moved quickly
out this one after sniffing the chopsticks.
Labels: breakup, cat, chaos, Chinese Restaurant, feral, fighting, former lovers, guilt, personality
