for Cindy but not for Bob
I wrote a poem once. and it was a good poem
as I recall
but I don’t know where it went at all
I mean – not where the paper I wrote it on went
(Hell, I’m sure it went the way of my baseball cards – unmercifully bent)
where did that passion go?
Is it gone forever?
A promise made
A promise kept: a poem each day
Hand-delivered first day back
must have been 90 or so:June-July-August
My pay a thank you
and seeing her walk down the hall holding hands with my mortal enemy
poetless soul-less blond hunk of fiery loin-grinding nemesis
didn’t keep a copy (pre-Xerox)
never saw them again
Once – lame class reunion
didn’t have the balls to ask
I rather think that good poem was in that batch
and now it’s in her
but tomorrow it will be in me again
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