by

Robert H. Dirr Jr.

I paid for my return from tangled tubes and distorted dreams with many scars
And a weakened frame, but the image in the mirror is unchanged and intact.
My eyes opened to your familiar face and I knew your love for me had vanished.
Having been where you are now, it saddens me that your spirit has been reduced
To dust beneath my bed and under the rug that spans the walkway to my heart.

Memories of us are near the top of your casualties inventory, but I don't mind.
I belong there, precisely stacked upon four husbands and countless others,
Like rotting bodies in ditches along the roads that led to the city of My Lai.
You said I was a romantic fool, that I deserved better, to forget about you.
I squandered years trying to regain what I lost, but finally took your advice.

Recollections and images lying beneath fertile loams of enduring life are concealed
For I am still here and you are not. Goodbye, my dear. Take care of yourself.
When you are famished for attention, surrounded only by two dogs and
Four cats and a hop-a-long rabbit and a crying baby, your ears will resonate with
Words you once spoke to me. "Are you happy now?" And I shall say "Very."

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