You don’t write me poems anymore
She said
And he admitted wearily
That writing was not something
High on his list right now

But he pointed to the Hallmark card
He’d picked up in Walgreens and
The stuffed white teddy bear
With the black button eyes and said,
“See, I still love you.”

In the darkness she weeps
For the absence of his passion
While in the living room
Watching some series on HBO
He wonders if this is really all there is

He fights to remember Valentine’s Day
In years past, with girls unremembered
And gifts as common as the one his
Lack of imagination conjured now

And he recalls that she liked chocolates
And the other one liked roses and a few liked
Vermont Teddy bears. But the one who liked poetry,
She vanished in a windstorm, and so he put
Away his quills.

He runs his fingers through wiry hair
And notes the gristle on his chin
Needs attending to. Somewhere behind
His rheumy eyes a love poem twitches
In his jaded mind. The verses climb,
As does the emotion, and his heart
Stirs for just an instant with words
He still cannot really feel

Disabused of the notion there is something there
He rises from the couch and takes an aspirin
Before he goes to bed.

02/15/2013

Posted on 02/15/2013
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch