To Be Old

Grasshopper.

Love.

Splat.

 

Rewind that back, intent on good imagery.

 

She is bed-ridden.

Spiders hang from a light-fixture in the ceiling.

 

Thoughts never left.

She calls for help in a vacant house.

 

Stuck in my head.

 

Cat vomit encrusted on the heels of my shoes.

Figuring out what choices to choose.

Clean up dog shit or fall for the ruse.

 

By the way it was by the way.

Way back in the day it wouldn’t have been this way.

 

Wondering how she passes the minutes and what goes on in her mind.

Wondering all the time.

 

I dropped the ball when I didn’t drop her a line.

Thoughts of the last time we said goodbye.

(Dial-tone.)

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