Downed Lines

The phone call always comes At some unexpected hour of the day Before the mind can collect itself for grieving The words inadequate and sharp Always tear at the cold scab of repentant Emotion The hard knock of consciousness is a plague on both our houses. Farewell to one who has come and gone Farewell to the world the way we knew it You and I are no more, our story Played out. There's a black rubber tire in a junkyard somewhere Once strung from a rope on a beaten tree Two kids hanging, laughing The swing back and forth Enough to remind us, yea, and sometime Remember The dream of youth and longing age. ~ Laurence Overmire