Leftovers

Who would still be around
To pick up the pieces?
Scrounge through junk
Things, once important
Now, deemed useless
Control, a mere delusion
When that day came
Would there be cussing
And fussing about
Being inconvenienced?
Value judgements faded
About choices made
Sublimated in confusion
Seasoned by musty odors
From paper, books and furniture

 

From Where the Kudzu Grows

Friendships or acquaintances?  God grant me the wisdom to distinguish between the two.

They came and went over the years.  Names, places, remembered in bits and pieces.

Things I thought would last–didn’t.  Things never expected to last, persevered.

Was the glass half-full or half-empty?  Who cared?  In either case, the glass was not full, and was less than adequate.

Her beauty slapped me in the face–hard as a dead fish.  Covered in a kudzu gown, with roots that still dripped dirt. Beauty an illusion that came from within.  Reality never knocked–always let itself in.