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Contemporary International Poetry

issue 9904:10

Bishop Fallon

Three beers down,
And a cigarette.
It's been a thirteen hour day,
Number seven of ten,
And I am tired.

Plopped in front of the tv
Watching...I don't know what I'm watching...
Oh yeah,
Some 'where are they now' show with
Stars long lost forgotten,
I stare into nothing, worn,
Beaten,
As I wait for overwhelming exhaustion.

And for some reason, a tan four door Isuzu
Stops in front of my house...
My attention moves to the window
As a girl in a grey sweatshirt adjusts her make-up
Her red hair in a clumsy bun
Sharp nose, high cheekbones...
Oh my
God, I think it's her,
It looks like her,
My God, It's HER!

She wipes under her left eye with her pinky, as I stare astonished
Her nose drawn up, mouth like an O
As she rubs in the mascara,
That vague outline she missed
In her rush to get here...
Can this really be?
I have so often dreamed of seeing her again
Like this,
She'd be on my doorstep,
Waiting for me to come home,
With just one suitcase...
Or ringing the doorbell and, up on answering it,
She'd be smiling up
At me...
Just to think, she made such a long trip
To start over again
For me, for us, for the promise of
Forever

The miles and miles and thoughts and feelings and fears and dreams...

As the first wave passes over me
Of panic and joy and tears and love and
Loneliness -

A realization
That it's not her...

I stare out the window as
Her hand glides over her pale face in one final attempt at
Perfection
And she drives away.

The television goes to commercial
The crashing waves of feeling
Subside diminish
And I return to my
Silent flowing sadness.