A Cure

We saw it going,

the whole thing

sliding from the table:

cutlery, crockery,

weddings, honeymoons,

lives clutched together.

We saw that impending catastrophe

with bated breath,

and it fell.

Why didn’t I, like a dog,

come crawling, howling back

with my bleeding regret?

Why didn’t you

crash, rage through my door,

and tear up my loneliness?

Is this how it will be,

love spilt and burning

between tears

and coffee and work,

and the awful trams,

always impeccably on time?

Must heartbreak coexist

with this excruciating

every day ennui

that yanks you,

drags you by the hand,

reluctant child,

down through sleeping,

breathing and getting dressed,

down to the bank,

to the dreaded dentist’s office?

 

 Copyright Ricky Barrow 2014

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