waitress poems

Wednesday, May 11, 2005


This is the one place
you can never go:
Back to the old addresses
you thought were your own,
the numbers, street names you
still recite by heart.
Glistening with detail,
they taunt you with false solidity.
But when you approach
the familiar doorways
the locks have been changed
to keep you out.
And when you steal inside,
the clothes in the closet, your clothes,
are fitted to another body,
the face in the mirror
is unrecognizable.
Then, deep in the night,
driven by an irresistible desire
to see the orange moon
that once flamed
outside your window
you rise and begin to dress.
But you stumble
by the foot of the bed,
forgetting that was where
you used to leave
the black sturdy boots
in which you once tramped heedlessly
through a world
that no longer exists.


  • I like this one. It reminds me of my supposed story.

    By Blogger rdl, at 6:45 PM  

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