Still waiting

It wasn’t that he left me,
Because he never was really with me.
And I wonder now, was I really with him?
Or was it just my imagination
That tried so hard
Ran so fast
To stay abreast with his?

Youth usually wins.

I was racing then—
But with time,
Time that was always in short supply.
I never knew when the end would come
Even though the end hung right in front of my eyes.

Nothing ever started.
Nothing is ever finished.

Tonight at the theater I sat shoulder to shoulder with a
Perfect Stranger,
Imagining (once again) how sweet it would be…

As we rose to leave he spoke to me.
“I wish there had been an intermission.”
He said he had a bad back.
I said, “Yoga.”

Our shoulders had touched.

About Russ Wollman

My feet are finally in the water, and I want to keep them there.
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4 Responses to Still waiting

  1. Ken Chawkin says:

    Same narrative for you, eh? The elusivity of love as we think we understand it. A romantic poet’s illusion.

  2. Ken Chawkin says:

    but it makes for fine poetry!

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