The Rocks, 1.2m H x 3.5m W x .5m D. Albany, Duncan Moon
CAN’T GO HERE AGAIN EITHER
At night,
I’m seated on a park bench
and the cubic cleavage of light
from the moon, from traffic,
from the surrounding
apartment towers,
fashions a betrayed look
out of someone merely
trying to appear alone.
I’m revisiting the scene
of a hug, a squeeze, a kiss,
of fingers running up and down my cheeks,
the smooth swathe of a hand
across my chest.
Thomas Wolfe was right
but he didn’t go far enough.
The truth is
you can’t go anywhere again.
It’s chilly.
A little windy.
Foot traffic is sparse.
And I’m the only
static figure hereabouts.
I grab a flapping
page of newspaper
as it passes by.
-DROUGHT IN THE SUDAN
scream the headlines.
What better way
to remember a relationship.
_______________
John Grey
Review by Laurinda Lind
This is a clever title for an effective poem. I am getting an ear for this writer’s work, as this must be the fifth time we’ve been published together (I think the first time was in the 1990s). I felt lonely after reading this, though I haven’t broken up with anyone in 30 years.