Poem for a lonely Thursday evening
Thursday, October 23rd, 2008by Miguel Angel Morales
I look around this Empty place of mine
And notice certain corners are littered with history–
The History of Us:
Our vejigante children sit smiling on the bookshelves ready to be worn.
Secretly disappointed, they collect dust;
Your painting of me as a naked bicycle
Pedals vigorously to nowhere;
The ghosts of Pepe and Moochie have become disillusioned and
Rarely leave the closet where you discovered them;
(They stopped teasing me through the bathroom mirror)
I hear echoes of our kitchen sex horseplay hiding behind the refrigerator;
Maybe worst of all,
I smelled your bedroom scent and reached out to massage your back–
I touched nothing but air.