beautiful loser (trashcanpoet) wrote in suck_my_poetry,
beautiful loser
trashcanpoet
suck_my_poetry

I'm a little rusty, so I apologize if this sucks.

CONTINENTS THAT DON'T EXIST
(FOR KALEY)

I sit with your father
At a table
In a diner
In a wasteland of strip malls
On the West Side
Where people like him never go
Unless they're hunting down
The lost and the stolen
Property line drawn like razor wire
My kind on this side
His on the other
He crosses the line
For you.
The stubble on his cheeks is a measure
Of how long you've been gone.
We sit at our table
Like sparring blue jays
Fighting for every kernel and crumb
Of truth you left us
We spread our scraps on the Formica surface
And peck them apart
Searching for
Where
How
Why.
We push food listlessly
Around on Styrofoam plates
Half-chewed into the shapes of
Continents that don't exist
Places you might be now
Charting the ridges of egg blossoming into
Hills of yellow mustard
Lakes of cold coffee
The exact color of
The reflection of your eyes.
Maybe you found the sun at last
Bright as the dregs of orange juice
In a half-crumpled paper cup
Leaning ever so slightly
Toward my heart.
You gravitate there.
We leave wrinkled bills and scattershot coins
An offering to the gods of
Continents that don't exist
And coffee sludge and parking-lot puddles
That may one day
Sail you home....
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