Can’t Go Here Again Either, John Grey

The Rocks, 1.2m H x 3.5m W x .5m D. Albany, Duncan Moon




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.
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.


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