©Who’s Reaching Back for Me?
All Rights Reserved
Running insane in the pouring rain?
You’re a standup dame; please give us your name,
Then future this when the milk is gone—
Time’s not secure when overdrawn.
All hurts fade in the light of day,
But night pains thrive in your résumé.
I was the one lured; by Spring spurred
Into annihilating kisses from disencumbered
Itinerant male tenants,
By Summer seasoned into extravagance,
And by Autumn encouraged to winter in
A nobleman’s embrace, and then
Came the meaning of Winter’s meaningless
Misery to my mind’s hopeless mirthlessness:
I was being left behind the we,
Wondering who’s reaching back for me?
Let me be the one who remains mononymously
The only name you call —exclusively.
(painting: Auburn, 15x24 inches, Acrylic, Graphite, and Oil on Canvas by Michael Shapcott)