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.”

Dan Parks