Blue sea above his head
Green spread beneath his back. He waits.
Read for the umpteenth time his copy of hamlet
White pages greying beneath his dirted
Yellow fingers, nails
Blackening at the corners.
Blue from holding his breath waiting for her. She never comes to
Greet him. He would be here all day
While she let’s him
Yet how would he leave her, could he blame her. His
Back turned to the earth, lingers.
Boy she’s never coming now
Getting up, changing the horizon from a square to a line
Reaching his hands to the sky, looking around, sighing
Time to go back, go home. She’s not coming.
Yanks her chain from his neck
Back into his pocket. Hamlet in his pocket. He goes home.
No comments:
Post a Comment