OT - a relatively old poem

[In a relative sense, this is a really, really old poem.  And maybe the names have been changed to protect the innocent.  But for the hell of it, here it is....]

O T

I sit in the sun on my back patio
drinking the last of Geri's white wine
watching her plant a foxglove
bending over.

There's a jar of dried pennyroyal leaves
just inside
on our basement shelf.
I've been thinking of making, oh, tea of it
for two or three years.
Why haven't I?
Maybe I'm afraid
of leaving here.

So I sit drinking the last of Geri's white wine
and wonder if she'll even notice
what she'll say if she does.
I imagine she's tired of my whine
wishing or afraid I'll tire of hers.

Until then,
bottoms up.

 
Trackbacks
  • Trackbacks are closed for this post.
Comments

Leave a comment

 Name

 Email (will not be published)

 Website

Your comment is 0 characters limited to 3000 characters.