It’s been nearly
five years
and I’ve grown
weary
waiting for you,
but you said
the end is near,
the delay
almost over,
so in a few days
I’ll be making room
on a particular finger.
I’ll be as ready
as I’ve been
for nearly five years.
There’s nothing I want
more than us.
Photo by JUDY ANN DAYOT on Unsplash
People think
I’m only joking
when I say
I want to run away
to a tropical island
where no one can find me —
but with my luck,
I’ll get nothing more
than a skerry
to cling to,
and the waves will
keep pounding me
either way.
Still, having the chance,
I’d go.
Photo by Geoffrey Moffett on Unsplash
For months we’ve
prayed for rain,
heeding burn bans,
losing the chance this year
to sit around fire pits
shooting shit with friends,
watching stars fall,
pretending this is fine,
and we’ll live to see
a better world
before we’re gone.
Photo by Kittitep Khotchalee on Unsplash
Consider for a moment
the unhoused among us.
They’re not trolls
lurking under bridges.
They’re people who,
more often than not,
had a bout of bad luck
they couldn’t overcome.
It’s hardly ever a fault
of their own, and
they deserve more than we give.
No more traveling
alone to New York City,
or sad rides on trains.
No more being the only
unpartnered one on holidays,
no more soul-aching
single Christmas nights.
No more tears,
no more talking to myself.
I have a sidekick
for sightseeing now,
and I never want to let him go.
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