“Pluralities,” Ralph Adamo

I hate that you are on the other side this evening

If I go somewhere to cry for you how will I stop

I hope this finds you well. It’s been too long.
I said when you were already gone.

Listening to you talk
over there is like
listening to water

I compose
you are here
music breaking whitely
one track crossing over another
to reach disaster

Shooed from the blues I stand
against one breeze
and feel the summer’s cascade
buggy and wet in my blood

I a sunken man with an old nose and long eyes
wind-shredded
used to the way little becomes less
unprepared for bounty
whittling sorrow down to its toothsome size

****

The little house of my dead first wife
blows me a kiss as I go past
on wheels, the sidewalk cracks
one more lame joke to boot, and
then I am on the other side, again.