Sunday Morning Blues
So what others may say
and she can hear them
thinking that or maybe
inside her head hear their
voices say as such as she
sits on the stone steps of
her apartment thinking of
him and his thoughtlessness
and sure it's what most
people think is the norm
guys being guys thing but
she can't help being saddened
by his forgetting it being their
fifth anniversary since the
first day they met at the gallery
looking at the modern art the
Mondrian's and Rothko's and
her favourite Lichtenstein's
and how he had been all over
her that day being all knowledge
and kindness and fussing over
the smallest detail and taking
her to that restaurant he knew
and the music he put on in his
classy apartment and how he'd
been quite the gentleman that
night not pressuring for sex no
expectation of anything except
her happiness and now sitting
watching the early morning slow
ride by of Sunday traffic and the
odd passing person and their
usual rest day greetings she feels
depressed that he has forgotten
that he has not called and breathing
in the morning air she wonders
now if he really ever did care or
maybe he's grown sick of her and
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poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
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