How clumsy climax is,
for too much is still confused,
unanswered, like a lingerering fever.
How much was my desire one
how much some frustration from Mother's sour paps?
how much merely a glass of years clouding?
We cannot know, can know
my act is over, the show has been long,
your "beautiful character" must now go back
into a little box to await someone else
who wants a performer.
It's just that I want to
shout across our glass
that I am grateful for your few smiles,
angry that you smiled so seldom.
How strange it seems only
now to see
what has always been, a good relationship,
but lonely and transient. The other
was a dream I had from which....
Understandably you fidget.
In time you will know the
of the heart, but not from this teacher.
My box is ready, and I feel
Our detachment may endure.
If you've any comments on
this poem, Louie Crew would be pleased to
hear from you.