A Pile of Trash

I got pushed off my path
by a pile of trash - that
claimed that he loved me,
for real and forever. Amen.
Discounting all his sins as if
his maiden name were Wal*Mart.
But he never had it going for him.
Neither then, nor now.
And I have burned out on
the great somehow he offered me,
just before he left me so alone.
More alone than I had ever felt
within my life before. And life's been
long for me by now. Believe it, baby.
It's fraught with a deep-seated pain
that still remains within.
I miscalculated his intentions,
even as I fled from all he was.
The scum upon the pond of an
endurance that was never meant
to be. Promising a future that was
secretly imbibed in misery.
For misery was all he'd ever dared
to offer, in retrospect. And all he left
within the wake of coming just before
he left for good. And still, I can't explain it.
No matter all the time between.
The pull or the push or the fall.
Searching for the path that I was on
before he called. As if he thought that
somehow, I could ease his barren pain.
While all I am remains, somewhere inside.
Hidden by the travesty he brought.
Like trash that ought to disappear,
in modern times, the way it never
really does at all. And future falls.
Poisoned by a pile of trash recalled
into our memories, bereft. A father,
a brother, a son. And all the many
lovers that we tried to spin into our
fantasies of love, still so unreal.
Even as we feel our death,

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .