The End Above

by Ralkkai

A flower or a phone booth.
It makes no difference to me.

It doesn’t work like that these days, though.
It has to fall into place with rhyme and metre
and dare you stray, dare you teeter
and watch it all fall apart.

Doomed to an existence of mindless
melding manipulations and
topped off by insult, injury, impedance.

A flower, a farewell, a phone booth or a phoney smile.
It makes no difference to me,
as long as it’s not left untitled
in the closet
or on my doorstep.

A flower and a farewell.
That’s what it looks like in the end.

And we sew threads that leave
little ridges in our shirtsleeves
where hearts were supposed to be.

A phoney smile and a curt word
where love and longing should be.
It makes no difference to me.