Untitled II by Michael McConnell

Lovers prance into the bar.
I drink in their shadow,

pretend the last year
didn't happen, that you

are still waiting at home,
painting, drenching our

walls with passion, parcelling
canvas with vision, cats

curled warm at the foot
of our bed and time to waste

in the morning. When I walk
alone, ghost arms constrict

around an invisible you.
I can hear you purring.

I can feel your fingers
pressing my hands into your breasts

like a scarf. I can look
into the night, see the light

of a thousand fickle stars
who died long before we lived.

I need fiber and Jesus
to make me strong. I need

a clown to twist balloons
into giraffes and make them come

to life, make them stampede
and raise dust in their wake,

burst them like hope
when the party has ended.

@ - 2008 - McConnell

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