I know I would not be invited, that is quite true….
Did I think he would follow through
With the threat of a marriage proposal
Or even bring a bunch of wild flowers
To the cafe table?
In all likelihood those tables
Decorated by the next of kin
For the voracious eyes of the derelict and super-lonely
Over a dishpan filled Tupperware glasses
Next to a jade jar of celebratory roses
You proposed last July, wasn’t it
And then you died.
Hand me down opportunities
And second hand clothes
Decreed from the territory
Of unmapped fields
And unploughed furrows
Such childhood tests of elocutionary memories
At best discarded once and for all.
So what do I do now?
What do I know?
Are wisdom’s eyes fully dulled
And shut down? All I know is this:
It takes so long to court a poem
Prosperous in the time of love
Rendered poor before old age and its adagio
And I haven’t a dime in my dotage.