National Poetry Writing Month - Day 21
He took the truck, and he took the shed.
He slept with the neighbor in her raised beds.
He took my dreams. Some big and some petty.
Left me sitting with ghosts and old, cold spaghetti.
He took the moonshine, took the Irish Spring soap,
Took my warped VHS tape of Hope Floats.
He left the fridge empty, and the fan was a’humming,
Some, deranged whirring like, “You had it coming.”
What’s a life to live, if you’re living alone?
A big, empty house just ain’t a nice home.
I can’t stand the silence in these white, empty rooms.
That’s why I now sing this sad, simple tune.
He took the hound dogs, took the mangy black cat,
Took that only hat I look good in, yes even that.
He took the ARs, was a shot to my gut,
Found a note the next morning: “Missy, you know what’s up.”
Now I sit on this porch, belly plum full o’ beans,
Staring at the back field’s collapsed trampoline.
The wind don’t even sound good no how, no more.
It just coughs and wheezes, then blows shut my doors.
What’s a life to live, if you’re living alone?
A big, empty house just ain’t a nice home.
I can’t stand the silence in these white, empty rooms.
That’s why I now sing this sad, simple tune.
Oh I sing to the crows…
And I sing to the rust…
I asked the stars to stop blinking,
But blink the stars must.
He left me with nothing
But this hole in my heart…
And 500 saved items
In my Amazon cart.
What’s a life to live, if you’re living alone?
A big, empty house just ain’t a nice home.
I can’t stand the silence in these white, empty rooms.
That’s why I now sing this sad, simple tune.
That’s why I now sing this sad, simple tune.