It's just poetry, it won't bite


11.12.19 Posted in today's words by

Alexander Morgan’s most recent poem to appear here was “TV Berates the Snob” (September 2019).

By Alexander Morgan

We’d wed in the crazy, sexy Summer of Love
moths eager to plunge ourselves in the flames
of psychedelic urgency.

We’d divorced a decade later
like spent spiders, our web with no more stick
than an arachnid’s dream.

But after
I lived waiting for her miniskirted, curly-haired return
with the mad patience of the child of a cargo cult
high on memories of supernal bounty.

Drawn to other women, they
weren’t real.
Nice or less, I let them go
or forced them out, tendrils
hanging in empty rooms, hardly felt
as I scuttled through.

I wove mathematical webs,
got half-high alone each night,
watched whatever on the tube,
won technical awards,
my life, contained

she died

I heard from far away
the funeral secret, or at least from me.
To hell with them.
It didn’t matter.

I found a worthless therapist,
a useful 12-step group, stopped drinking
so much, gave up
pretending to date,
rediscovered my love
for words.

As happens in stories and dreams,
a gathering, some few friends,
a girl just passing through
with curly hair and a little dress.
She mentioned theater at the University of Detroit.
We both liked shows, knew people, had even taken classes


I asked her number.

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