two shiny leaks
streaking pouting face,
light mascara running away
like it's read my mind.
eyes like pools
no one would have
the heart to swim in.

even your curls
are crestfallen.

standing in front of
the bus
waiting for
"any minute now."

your "this is it" look
is the most tragic sight
I've ever not
wanted to see.

I crack a joke:
the stuff of nonsense,
only useful for
fixing up your upside-
down smile--
if only for
one while.

then the return of
Mademoiselle Frown
as your head turns around
toward that diesel hearse.

you look at me again.
you sigh--
silence.
I sigh--
silence.

"this is it."

06/12/2010

Author's Note: all my farewells

Posted on 06/12/2010
Copyright © 2024 Eric Hinkle