Wife

The urban day

blue and hazy
sunlight yellow through
coatings of
smog.

Shall we coffee my dear

wife, my dear
of many
years?

Street sounds dance through

the window
retchings of
streams
gone dry.
A child cries.
What child
past
crying
of hope and
fear?

What day is this, my dear

wife
my dear?
Shall we sing of love
as the dust lays
round
cinching
memory tight to the
earth?

What day is this?

The sunlight
glares
dwarf star dying
yellow
on the toast the cups dust
dear
dust
the wrinkled hand that held mine.

By Dante Dapolonia © 2000