January
January often arrives like an unwelcome guest — cold, broke, and full of expectations. This poem imagines him sitting down anyway.
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Real Gone – a Halloween song
What was it you said, that day at the lake?
Before he pushed you in.
What was it you felt , that day at the party?
As she sharpened the knife.
What was it you saw, that you shouldn’t have?
As they whispered and plotted in that little,dark alley.
Who was you touched as you smiled, self-content?
As I left my seat, club in hand.
What was it you wore , on that wintry, icy day?
As he followed , black hearted, behind.
And what is it like , on the other side of now?
Gone.