Three Poems about HER

Done

She ended it,
cut off her arm, without a wince.

Tragedy is inevitable.

Her misfortune just happened.


#2

Her bruises are beautiful,
I stare vacantly.
I once said bus trips were romantic,
I would like to wipe that remark from my lips, with the back of my hand.


#3

In transit,
holding tears onto your face,
harder than your the grip on an expired newspaper.

With my eyes shut, it is always light.

I think about where we stand, if you are behind, then you will notice, my amble, my hesitation.

If you are in front, you are too far ahead of me.