|
It's not all about me
by Glenn CurrierWhen I enter the room
he, alone with his book,
gives me nary a look.
Maybe Wednesday was bad
for our small group to join,
and his time to purloin.
His weak "Hi" strains his throat
but I pretend I don't note
the wintery clime.
So I cast out my thought,
not the best I had brought,
it is dressed in a scrap.
It is good for a while
but it soon looses force
like the moon's sweet remorse.
In a moment he's gone.
I'm hurt and I burn
until later I learn
that in Monday's gray haze
the home of his praise
disappeared in a blaze. 10/03/2002 Posted on 10/03/2002
Copyright © 2024 Glenn Currier
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by JD Clay on 10/04/02 at 02:42 PM WoW! Powerful words with an intricate form, Glenn. Amazing energy eminating from the last line. Nice work. Peace...jadi |
| 
