THE HISTORY OF US NEVER HAVING MET
Does it involve anyone else I wonder
or just shadows
and pizza eaten cold
on a Monday morning.
And where do I live?
Do I even bother with a house
in the suburbs
or does a small city apartment do?
Is there a bed in my story
equally as comfortable as this one?
And is it comforting besides?
How many more books do I read?
How many less plays do I see?
And what of the movies?
Is every film a different partner
in the seat beside me?
Or is it empty?
And is it that emptiness
that accompanies me home?
So many demons to assuage.
So many heartbeats to
toss like confetti
into the happiness of others.
So much trudging through city parks
for no reason
or working a second job
because the first’s not dull enough.
So how cold do I get in winter?
How much sorrow for myself
can I squeeze into one lifetime?
The history is out there.
I’m just glad I’m writing it,
not living it.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Examined Life Journal, Evening Street Review and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Harpur Palate, Poetry East and Visions International.
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