Scavengers ripped the sinews
Of my heart
I left it with the other refuse
In the parking lot
And then went to find it
On a whim, deciding if she
Didn’t want it, it seemed foolish
To let some predator have its way
With the remains.

The press picked up my story
Why, just last week they followed
Some poor lady who had
Lost her fiancé’s engagement ring
In a landfill. She was on Nightline,
20/20, 48 Hours. CNN did hourly updates.

Some trash picking guy named Stanley Morken
Found the ring. Returned it to the girl whom,
It appeared to me, was shamed into giving him a reward
Far more than she desired to give,
If in fact she desired at all.

But you take inspiration where it’s offered
And so I put it out there, that the heart I
Had so blithely rendered to a woman
Had been left in some antiseptic place:
Unsheathed, unwrapped, and prey to
Whatever vermin that happened by.

The girl who found my heart was
Somewhat plain, somewhat quiet;
Not the type who expected anything
From the expedition except my thanks
And gratitude. She got a drink at the Waldorf instead
And an hour of me listening to her own tale of woe
Which was understated and as she put it,
An old story more than twice told
To frozen ears like…well, mine.

My heart was a raggedy thing by then:
Whitish-gray, drained of blood,
Absent the vessels which would
Render it again alive and sound

But I put on a good show
And the plain girl with no malice in hers
Put her faith in my heart to renew
Itself in her embrace.

She waits still, patient and
Adoring, and sure as tomorrow
That love will stir again in
That mess of desiccation
I’ve put in the closet by
The cellar door.

She listens for its revivified
Palpations every day. Swears by them.
Prays for them.

Me, I just hang my coat and scarf on the
Racks in the closet and think I’ll
Probably need some Lysol one of
These days to mitigate the odor
Of irremediable decay.

08/31/2014

Author's Note: Dedicated to those worthies whose role in life, it seems, is destined to pick up the pieces of someone else's broken heart.

Posted on 08/31/2014
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch