Today's poem is by Camasin Middour
A Last Poem
Dear, there's not much more I can do:
the rugs are beaten clean,
my passport's in the mail.
I can follow you with a paper towel
to wipe your traces off each door-knob and spoon.
I've kept your books for you,
and I keep my patience still
in the whirl of a fish tank.
All the plants have died, but
I consider them disposable.
Once this plan was a pas de deux
but my dear, I've come down with stomach flu
and a motorcycle rumble.
I've fixed many things here with crazy glue,
but my red cup dropped in the basin.
Soapy knives and forks swim the way sharks do.
A lemon peel floats by, there's water in my shoes.
I've developed a twitch from the ringing phone.
My dear, I checked the catalogue
and it seems the vine along our redwood siding
why, it's called "The Wandering Jew"!
ripped the handles off the doors
(I replaced them with bells).
If I want to go outside for a new point of view
I'll have to chew my way through this neat wood frame
but I don't mind teeth marks, do you?
Copyright © 2008 Camasin Middour All rights reserved
from Western Humanities Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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