by Frances Yeager

Created on: April 06, 2009   Last Updated: April 09, 2009

Acrylic red cracks break his canvas face

Hot like sunset,

He descends on Brooklyn sidewalks trying to erase,

his footsteps with a can of spray paint

Splattering orange and blue in my wake

Talking to my skin

Appealing to my ache

His dinner jacket did nothing to ease

the lack of ceremony

This was solicitation

For Simple Recreation

Speaking prettily

He read to me from his dictionary

As though it were gentlemanly

And the tales were cautionary

There were photographs

on the walls

showing me what might befall

They just wouldn't shut up

Wouldn't be silent

But now it is too late to ignore

My name tagged across the closet door

My limbs glistening in the hallway light

The hollowness of my insides in the middle of the night

It was all so Common

So unexceptional

Crestfallen

I felt conventional

I suppose this is a shortcoming of youth

Next time Ill listen to the photos

They tell the truth

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