Friday, February 27, 2009

new poem

Ghosts of Palatine

When they wiggle out
of bed, I am again

tardy, totally

asleep behind
the Mastectomy

Salon,
among other things,
there are others all
around me, nesting
their tired bodies
in
chemical shrub.

Kid creeps me out, your father said

after I left. When
you were
eleven
was when
you first disappeared, and
your mother called mine
and mine called another,
thousands of sad, sad mothers
dialing numbers to
find you, and
still,

no you.

Still sleeping,
Stacy,
sorry,
did I miss your
call? I bumped into you
at the mall?? No
way. Anyway, I'm
sorry, Stacy,
today
I don't feel like
me, see, when I

was ten was
when
your
fragile
skull
first fell
into
the crater,

where
your father
buried
the computer,

are you
still there? Sorry friend,

today

I must be

dead already

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