We each have an altar we visit,

mine is writing,

yours are the rhymn instruments,

shank! Swish!,  Bump!

You rush to school

calling me about lost keys, letters

phone numbers.

I’m fighting to focus

on the sinking ship at my desk

life preservers, yes, no

Who survives

in stupid reports

that float on the surface

and never travel far

beyond the shitting seagulls.

 

At the days end,

I’d like to calculate

where the relationship is going,

but you don’t do math.

 

22 Oct 08

Dave Barber

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