1992

twenty three years
is a long time to wait

will you still be here
on this party floor

in the house with the ghost
and the doors that don't

close anymore and faucets always leaking?

twenty fifteen
is so far away

will you still be here
with your painted toes

the beginnings of a song
scribbled along

a gas bill glowed in red and now no heating?

twenty three years
is a fine age to waste

by the two of us
never meeting

This poem appears in


Wire Walkers

Pass it Along

© Brendan Bonsack
April 2015