Let’s be still, scream if it helps, join the rain
pounding these streets. It’s all wrong:
we can’t sleep, can’t wake, making
love is a seizure and the sheets bind us.
But here now is darkness, here now
night falls and makes us quiet.
After a time, we lose track, the head nods,
we acquiesce. We knew what was
coming: now, then now, then too late.
When I was young, I waited for
you in an abandoned building
in the French Quarter. I remember
it was crumbled in plaster and stitched
with sinuous vines. That night the trees
were suspended from the moon; they
hung like seedbursts that had dropped
from the sky. I waited late for you
and heard homeless boys sing
their made up street songs, and saw
an old man, unstrung, dancing
streetlight to streetlight, at night,
under a black umbrella. You never came,
but I was grateful you let me think
you would be there, inside the stuccoed walls,
on the humid cement, and how it made me want
to be where I was. I waited for you and time
dissipated like blood in the ocean.
Mike Forecki is a graduate of University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee (B.A. in English, M.A. in Philosophy) and the University of Wisconsin (Juris Doctor). A practicing attorney for nearly 40 years, he began writing poetry in his semi-retirement and has had several poems published in Volume One magazine.