And Sadness by John Tustin

It’s the noise the used umbrella makes when it’s closed
and thuds wetly on the floor
and
it’s the boy waving wanly goodbye
and getting on the bus
and
it’s her trying to be nice to you
because she wants something
and your skin crawls more than usual
and
it’s the same songs cynically played on the radio
and you used to like some of them but no more
and
it’s sitting alone in the movie theater because no one
wants to watch the movies you want to watch
and
it’s the death of another one you love or admire
and the deaths are piling up in your head like cordwood
and you can’t remember who’s dead or alive
and
it’s the yellowed apple core
(they yellow so quickly)
and
it’s tires on the pavement
and
it’s the phone ringing at 1:43PM on a Sunday
and
it’s rain outside as you sleep alone
and
it’s filling the car with gas
and
it’s filling your belly with flavorless sustenance
and
it’s everything’s been done
and
everything’s been seen
and
every mountain’s been climbed
and
you cannot grasp love
and
your children will leave you one day
following the trail of your sanity
and
they will be sad for your loss
but leave anyway.
Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

About the Poet:

John Tustin is currently suffering in exile on the island of Elba but hopes to return to you soon. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.

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