Poetry by Robert R. Woods

Thursday

April 12, 2012

Well, the day has by at a reasonable rate, much like the traffic outside my living room window... steady, sturdy a flow each car leaving just enough room bumper to bumper to slow if absolutely necessary... Yes, the has gone by note at a coffee and cigarette pace... more like a nicotine patch, and a hot cocoa jog from my lips to the intestines which grumble hungrily at the warmth the dark chocolate and the white marshmallows generate...

Regret

The bedroom stays moderately cool since your hasty departure.

Particularly frigid that side of the bed you claimed for your own

when we first moved in, “The Right Side.” The name chosen

by you, no doubt, to commemorate your point of view whenever

we argued over some unimportant, domestic  issue like whether

or not I should toss my dirty socks in the middle of the living room

floor,  leaving them there to pile up until “Laundry Sunday.”

Can’t say I regret the absence of your snoring even though

it wasn’t an unpleasant sound. More like a baby breathing

than a locomotive passing through our apartment.

But that thick glob of golden brown hair that always

clogged the bathtub drain? No, I don’t miss that at all!

Standing ankle deep in lukewarm water every time

I took a shower isn’t a fond memory.

I often forget that you’re gone: asking you questions

as I place my one plate and one fork into the dishwasher,

angry at you for a moment because you’re not here to answer.

Sometimes I’ll roll over in the middle of the night,

my fingers reach for you ... and touch nothing

but darkness. Sometimes I hear a funny story

at work and say to myself, “She’ll get a kick out of that...”

then realize you won’t be there when I get home.

I suppose it really doesn’t matter, ‘cause

you never laughed at my jokes... only at me.

                                                                                  rrw 1-4-12