What we will talk about

Under leaden skies

Heavy with guilt, (and if we need it, rain)

Under leaves wet with dewdrops

Memories sliding off

Like cold sweat on fevered brow

Plop-plop into dirty puddles beneath

our anxious, nervous feet

We will stand and talk

Of things not worth remembering…


And then

On see-saws of rotting wood

Like the scales of rickety, but righteous justice

and on Benches of rusted steel

With fine layers of dust

and useless heart-shaped cages scrawled on them

with forgotten names, (now long since free),

held prisoner within

We will sit, cross-armed

Worried knees, shivering together in the rain 

…and we will sit, and accuse one another

of not remembering enough.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s