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A Short History of Regret |
How many times did you pass
on the street or touch
on a crowded train,
before regret slipped
you a note, scribbled
like a shopping list
of nibbled failures?
A broken promise, a stolen
cheque, a mother lost
in a poker game, and inked
in red, the letter you wrote
but never sent, pressed
like a flower
between the pages of a book.
At first, no gloveless handshake,
no hint of recognition. A bluff
not sharp enough
to puncture skin, it teetered
at the point
where the shadow could burst
and then the balloon.
You tried to change trains
but the carriage followed,
covered your face
but the colour ran off,
ransacked a library, were found
surrounded by books, all open
on the same page.
copyright 2013
Maurice
Devitt |
