Old Flames
 
There was one who stalked me 
and one whose name I never knew.  
There were several with large breasts 
and there were a few with small breasts 
and there was one who was genuinely kind. 
Some liked adventure 
and some liked staying home
and most of them hated the books I read 
and none of them read the books I wrote. 
Most of them were beautiful, 
even if only in the eye of the beholder. 
Most had dark hair 
but there were a couple of blondes 
and even a redhead. 
Most of them loved me for a minute 
and they all finally moved on, 
mostly to parts unknown. 
But this was long ago 
and I wish them happiness 
and I hope they have found 
what they needed
as did I when I found my Jill. 
Some of these are the same 
and some are different 
and maybe it’s all imagined. 
I am old but they are young forever. 
Even when we die, 
all of this will echo someplace. 
Do you wonder, when you look at a grave, 
if it is any different than your own? 
 
 
 
 
You and Me
 
The destroyed ride buses
and sometimes take walks alone
or stare out windows
on rainy afternoons.
The feel the weight of regret
heavy in their chests
but don’t always know exactly
what that means.
The destroyed
might have pets or children
or be married
but still prefer solitude.
They are everywhere,
reading books or drinking coffee,
wishing for things that never were.
You might think them odd or invisible
until you look in a mirror
on your way to a couch, beside a window,
with a storm raging
everywhere.