Departure

Posting a few poems written in 2011 which I put together into a small booklet called Salisbury. Just wanted to showcase that poetry isn’t, or has been, a recent thing with me; it’s been part of my whole life. These few are just the more fortunate ones to survive that wilful self-destructive streak in my personality. Self-hatred is as much a motivator as love.


Departure

 The day you left

tore a gap

in my head so wide and dark.

I fell into it,

and was lost for the rest of the day.

And night was even worse

for I had drunk myself senseless

on stale beer and cheap red wine.

 

Inebriated, I kicked the cat, and drank

the fish bowl dry.

Pity about the fish inside.

Oh, won’t you come back to me!

Please come back

and make things right…

or even just a little less

hurtful!!

But that’s not all I did

that day – and night – you departed

for home.

 

I called my flatmate queer – even though

he was. He just looked at me

queer-like.

Boy, was he pissed off though

when I took his favourite poster of

that Bieber boy and used it to

start a fire (I was cold and hungry!) in

the lounge to cook my dinner –

frozen steak and tinned mushroom soup.

The firemen weren’t happy either

when they came busting through the door

and windows (why couldn’t they just knock

like everyone else?).

 

I might have answered.

Where will I go now

that you’ve gone?

Everywhere I go now

will remind of you and how

we shared intimate moments

– a glance, a touch, a kiss, a smile…

 

Everywhere there is you

in the street, in the clubs,

in the pubs, in the cinema.

Even on the promenade

outside our apartment

where we just sat on the bench

and marvelled that our hearts

matched the sunsets.

And sunrises.

 

Pity is now my companion,

in my bed, in my shower,

in my lounge.

I don’t like it

but it’ll have to do now

that you’re gone.

 

 

© 2011 L. Tafa

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Author: b20f08

I enjoy solo wargaming and writing. The first caters to the boy that never grew up; the latter satisfies a deep desire to communicate. Cheers.

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