80spoems/badlove

BAD LOVE

There is the dying
I know will come.
The pain that will seer
through my chest
from longing to hear
your voice, to see your
eyes behind dark glasses.
A frantic desperation
brews beneath this anger,
waiting to lash out
when I least expect it,
as I am standing over
the Ovaltine with my daughter,
taking cat food from the can,
saying goodbye to the drive-through
teller.
A thousand bloody axes lie waiting
in my heart,
for me to get sure of myself again,
glad to have my life back,
waiting for moments like now,
when I realize I can do as I choose.
A thousand conspiring axes
are poised inside my heart,
sure of their revenge,
when I can do all the things
that went undone while
I tried to please you.
The dying will come, reminding
me of the touch of your hand,
your walk across the room.
A thousand bloody axes
lie waiting, frozen
in the heat of anger.
I will walk in the grocery,
and hear your voice
behind my right shoulder,
just as it was before.
The dying is sure to come,
just when I remember my life,
my name, my destiny, the pain
will come, reminding me of love,
reminding me, reminding me.

1980