Exile

I traded in my phone For a pack of Djarum Blacks, Surrendered with it speech And took a toke on toxic tar. I packed a bag to camp Complete with tent and fruit- Days from December now And the puddles have turned to ice. I boarded a ferry in Horseshoe Bay Bound for nowhere, in particular. Watching the seagulls fly to kill That dreaded nostalgia. I stuck out my thumb, The most infantile of gestures, To share the most intimate kind of opening up- A car door for a stranger. All this, just to forget you. Or, rather, The you that slept beside me, Once. Stranded on a wayside highway Nowhere left to go but on or home Which, they say, is where the heart is. Can you feel the irony in this circularity? Shall we call it hilarity, absurdity? Neither is any consolation. I once was blessed with breath And called the breather "God" Those billows are still, tonight As if to say "It's your turn!" A wise working warrior, A veteran of this life, Offered me a ride and some coffee. He told me about his wife's fight with cancer An Amazon worthy of this Hercules And about the walk through a children's cancer ward That changed his life "Nothin' but fucking hope in their eyes. Hope." There were almost tears in his. I cannot yet forget you. Or rather, The you that sleeps beside Another.