Shaved grass sucks the place dry
of rubbish and general wantonness,
picking butts from the ground
and smoking them, stunting your growth
and pockets, embracing sharpness for a while.
I held it close, and now I let it go.
Unwittingly, holding for dear death
what is not meant for me, a dismal creature
promised to another, supple bonds of love
on a better man, hating my actions, end of.
A public kiss does wonders
at pain of exclusion, I regret my actions
apologies fail to pass muster, no trust
imparted again, at pain of regret
no longer at the cutting inside edge.
A hearse muddles slowly by
the driver hard done by repeatedly, never surmises
once on his loss, hardened by circumstance
“It’s a job, after all”, but what if it was me
moving slowly, stuck in the parameters of a cheap box?
People will then regret what they’ve done,
formulate theories of my demise.
Free food at short notice, wine the same
the pretty manicured graveyards gorge its feast
but not closure, poisoning atmospheres forever.