a failure to communicate
a failure to communicate
Going back to college at thirty-three
means a balcony morning
and marine layer coffee,
poetry by Percy Bysshe Shelley,
and trying to discern meaning
from his attempt at characterizing feeling
in an era known as romantic,
but not in the traditional sense of defining;
if a man isn’t an island,
then why do I feel like floating
after we talked and you told me
how to spend the rest of my life
while I watched your boat pass by?
Noone wears a wristwatch anymore,
because it takes an iPhone
to know the time
or depending on the edition
your supposed status in life,
a fictionalized fantasy
for me to remember the good times
while unexercised muscles atrophy,
“Excuse me?”
Wouldn’t it be my liberty
as the author of these stories
to create a certain mythology
surrounding you and me,
or do you suppose that you know
where my mind goes
after I realize that romanticism
is derived from the French word romanz
meaning that life is actually
a series of fantastic and unfortunate events,
count on both hands our time spent
and tell me that it hasn’t affected
your eternity for the better,
like spring weather
when summer sneaks in
and memories blanket you
with their warm sin,
do remember the Saturday when I held you
sitting on the rocks next to the beach,
what about that view?
It’s as if attempting to predict the future
suffocates its potential from occurring,
what do we do now
with the apparent know how
that my moving on
is going to look different than yours,
our story only a chapter
and it might help you to realize
that this book is written over a lifetime,
it should bring some peace of mind
to know that drowning occurs in twos,
because it’s when the victim panics
and in an attempt to survive
that they push their rescuer down
and then they both die,
water wasn’t made to breathe
and I need some air,
I hope it didn’t take a world
in an era of social distancing
to realize that the most valuable thing
we have is our time,
days spent remembering
aren’t a waste,
but it might be wise
to get on with your life,
and when I see a future you,
with the front lawn, the kids,
and the things that you’ll do,
I’ll smile and say,
“I used to know you.”