Second Chances

Poetry is something I tend to not share often among my peers. The reason is because it tends to be rather morbid for their tastes. A couple co-workers love it though, so they often are the receivers of my rather ill-taste work. Since I do not see any of you on a regular basis, you can have a taste too.

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I couldn’t begin to tell you why

The teardrops fell as I silently cry

Smeared across the polished stone

Is the reminder that I’m now alone

I wash my hands and change my clothes

I don’t want anyone else to know

What has happened here this very night

What remains of now is our last fight

Secured in a bag of black

I drag you over to the rickety shack

I watch the flames consume the bag

The shed soon starts to give and sag

When it finally falls in upon you

I know that this night is finally through

I pack the kids into the car

And I head off somewhere rather far

Where you don’t exist, you’re not my wife

We have a chance to start a new life.

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-M. Hendrix