SUNDAY'S ALWAYS DEAD

You always loved the poets
though you never understood them
in the fraction of an instance
the meaning leaves you for good then
*
I wish I had a yearbook
to frame your porcelain face
Planned a perfect rebellion
to make our escape
*
But you never really loved me
more than a friend
And friend somethings are forever
Sunday's always dead
*
No one stays at all
in this abandoned place
they only ask for directions
back to where they came
*
It's so unworthy
Who am I to say?
But since I am the author
this to you, I dedicate
*
A fraction of a turn or
the stitch from a thread
I might have been
other than
*
Now no one comes to the store
And no one walks in the streets
And no one laughs for anything
but humility and defeat
*
They think it's really cool
to watch the suffering dead
who haunt these streets with valentines
Sunday's always dead

*

Sunday's Always Dead Copyright 2000 David E. Arhar