by Nina Medeiros

Created on: April 03, 2009

Wild & Free

His girlfriend laughed and said,

I'm too pretty to be a poet

to which he half-smiled and grazed his lips over the fleshy bumps of her neck

as she pressed a thin bony finger into the fat of his cheek, saying

that world,

is forgotten darling.

It was like her to ridicule him,

chipping away with words sharpened by years of life in suburbia.

He paced the floor slowly,

a cigarette burning in the ashtray

odd little piles of ripped up paper, Styrofoam, drycleaning receipts.

These were bits of life, later

to be reworded

and rescued.

If he was lucky,

the endless chanting of ideas would

become weary and tired,

resigning themselves to a place on a page

a comfort, like the dim blue light

of a flickering television in a dark room.

Most of us acknowledge

that comfort might be the only real gain.

Learn more about this author, Nina Medeiros.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.