on my balcony
i’ve come out to sit.
weeks have passed
and now, where you sat,
only bleached and splintered wood
and an empty space.
A few feet further,
where the balcony ends,
the sun dances on the red brick
and mortar,
the wood table and furniture
on my neighbor’s side,
my own feels so barren.
the sun goes behind the clouds
that sound of jet engines
and I think of you,
just two weeks ago,
when we sat and spoke of love
and how we make
a habit of it.
the way you smiled at me here
makes me want to write
in clichés.
what were you trying to say
if anything at all?
birds fight in the sunbathed pines
above my red brick balcony,
planes pass above,
feet patter by in my peripheral
as I write.
so many beautiful lights and colors,
but none of it as lovely
as the way you looked at me.
ugh!
this poem is dripping in clichés.
my coffee cup is empty,
why did you leave
with the one you spoke of
in such unsure words?
check the soles of his feet,
you may find the date
when your love will expire.
ugh!

≋

June 7, 2021
Rosemont, Montreal