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Denial in a Walk-in Shower Above New York City

09.13.12 Posted in words to linger on by

Brian Le Lay has spent the past year living in New Jersey, Seattle, San Francisco, Phoenix, and Louisville KY. He has recently returned to New Jersey.

Denial in a Walk-in Shower Above New York City
By Brian Le Lay

One month after you didn’t come home,

All those headlights on the pavement weren’t you, 
The night before the boys from Harlem
Played the bagpipes in Central Park
I cried in the walk-in shower
Of a New York City hotel room

We sat in folding chairs beneath a pavilion,
And the mayor spoke, a slew
Of superlatives I didn’t understand
And the president of your company cried
And everyone cried, but me.

I refused to accept you’d been murdered.

You must have been wandering Manhattan,
The whites of your eyes turned yellow,
Struck by amnesia, concussion as from a falling rafter
Assumed a new identity, maybe
Hanging from the back of a trash truck
Or delivering Chinese food on a bicycle

But any day you were bound to remember
Who you were and hop the 197 into town

And there is a thing
With people so special
That Earth, or God,
Does not want us
To keep them very long

I think this is a rotten trick.

And I am still waiting.

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