Watch the cabs snake around us
as this porcelain mug you gifted to me last Christmas
profess its love to the cement,
listen to its pulverizing -
an anthem of you never coming home again.
Watch the traffic lights blink their eyes like a liar
as the sweater I knitted you last fall
surrender to the floor,
hear its whisper of yielding -
a song you'll never understand because all you ever do is scream.
Watch the men in suits and sunglasses target us with pistol fingers
as the love letters I wrote in quill
spill over this box that laden your arms now,
pay attention to the thud as they hit the ground -
a dull note too heavy to carry.
Watch the police officers peel us off each other's grips,
say through the tears, "We didn't make a mess here, Sir,"
as the handcuffs clatter and clink into our wrists,
sob and speak, "We are the mess no brooms could sweep into fixing
and this crowded box of loss and love is our very witness."
YOU ARE READING
Fools
PoesieWords by Fransivan MacKenzie Illustrations by Cali Isobel "FOOLS" is a small collection of poetry accompanied by illustrations that reek of love in its rawest nature, therefore defying all kinds of logic. All sixteen poems (excluding the tiny ones o...
