“Word Block”

A liar walked in today. Smiling, sweet, shy
A nod my way, hello. He sat
at a table with drink in hand
and did not say a word
to the men engaged on either side,
the woman smoking, chit-chatty
someone’s boyfriend this, a scandelous that
The voices muted, the notebook opened, and
all night long he fretted
with pen touching pad, pausing
book wide-mouthed, agape, awaiting
a swallowing of sickness
or better yet, love, give me love. But
he could not write
when he thought of her, perfect, lovely her
steady as rain on quiet nights
unscathed, fragrant and so unlike
the grinding mess in his mind
No, he could not write, but he tried
and wrote a poem
of someone else
instead.
After which, he finished his drink.
Closed the book.
And seemed troubled.

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Categories: Creative Writing, love, poetry | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

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