She Lacked Spirit

West Meadow Street, ‘99

 

It made sense at the time:

she praised me on my poised demeanor,

beside the asphalt. I stood unyielding by the

streetlights, on Meadow, for many nights,

walking till my heels bled.

 

Shoes full of gore and

squealing with my every step; the context of lost

descants; the shrug of a shoulder; the making of a

war wound, placed in my own head. I gained while

I held her (only). I hated our rehearsal; I hated how

often she made me wince, just speaking what it was.

 

She lacked spirit.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s