R. Gerry Fabian

Dissected Demise

As quickly as ashes upon a burning cigarette fall

so, friends are lost.

Some leave quietly with long glances but few words;

others just never post a return address.

Like the slow, silent morning hours

when you can no longer sleep,

nothing can stop the passing of a friendship.

Far away friends are as weathered leaves

blown into another yard - just out of reach.  

Notes texted are only tokens of resistance

yet the hours, in memory focus,

remain like a small scar.

Friends are not easily lost

for you cannot lend yourself to a friend

unless you never expect to be returned.

That does not make it any easier.

Midway Aromas

I want us to be

more than a circus act.

Something more

than a series of performances

strung together over the years

and punctuated by clowns.

I want high wire respect

to flavor

our arrivals and departures

and

a small child’s awe

at the majesty

of the wild animal town parade

to be our daily

sustenance.

No Exceptions

I need an Oxycodone pill

or a shot of Rumple Minze

or a high alcohol IPA

or at least a pint of light beer.

Hell, I’ll settle for several

belts of sacramental wine.

Instead, I sit here at 10:13 am

staring at my desktop monitor

waiting for the meaningless 10:30

obligatory video sales meeting

because

reading the obituary this morning

of the first girl who ever kissed me

on the lips because she ‘loved’ me

is not covered in (HR)’s

“Reasons For Paid Leave.”

R. Gerry Fabian is a published writer and poet from Doylestown, PA. He has published five books of poetry: Parallels, Coming Out Of The Atlantic, Electronic Forecasts, Wildflower Women, Pilfered Circadian Rhythm as well as his poetry baseball book, Ball On The Mound.