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at last

by Johnny Crimson

I've been sailing on this river boat
drifting further from the truth.
As I pass, the willow's branches
reach on board to shake my hand.

My captain's log is spotty and inconsistent
like a polka-dotted ditz,
and we can't call our parents collect anymore
because c-o-l-l-e-c-t just doesn't exist.

Each time I leave a message from a LAN line,
I'm always rushed to make a point,
as if you're standing on my voicebox
choking my life out with the cord.

When I speak softly into the mic
all the people walk on by,
yet when I scream they stop and take pictures,
they shake their heads and wonder why.

Whatever poison you gave the baby
yeah, I think I drank it too.
You were so good at mixing kool-aid,
yet noone's ever mixing it for you.

I guess I'll do the stirring
as I have always like to churn.
Here's permission to burn my letters
I know they leave you so concerned.

Each time I find a ghost house
I'm always entering alone.
I leave my number with the spirits,
they always call when I'm not home.

Someday you'll find a present resting
on the front steps where you stay,
a letter explaining this obsession
and a match to burn it all away.

Your husband will ask you where it came from
and he'll want to know the tale,
but you'll just say that "it was nothing"
and at last, the truth prevails.





11/21/2012

Posted on 11/21/2012
Copyright © 2024 Johnny Crimson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 11/21/12 at 04:35 PM

There's a rasp that creeps into this. I like that. I like everything about this.

Posted by George Hoerner on 11/21/12 at 04:57 PM

Ah, for most of JC it is out of sight out of mind so don't take it personally. But I know that is hard to do when you've tried to give someone your heart and they refuse it. But still this was a good trip down memories lane.

Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 11/23/12 at 04:48 PM

really so well written, I winced, it hurt to read, and then I admire the fine skill of laying it all out like the truth

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