Round Peg, Square Hole: noir

Rains can’t wash away this bitter.
Losses creep now so much closer.
I can’t find any kind of job
And it sure looks like I’m the loser.

I can’t go home again.
Home is no longer there,
Killed by time and storms
And Love has ceased to care.

The Gulf edges ever closer,
Marshes turn into salted sea.
The gray eats away my memory
And no more Mardi Gras for me.

I don’t belong here:
I’m in someone else’s space!
I really ought to go
And make room for another’s place.

I want to be get gone and free,
But where would I to go?
Back to New Orleans
And await the six feet below?

The Graces, Hazel and Esther, won’t mind
If I get off this crumbling fence.
I really don’t know what I’m doing
And tomorrow won’t make any difference.

How do I tell my daughter
Discovering Life, Joy and 3-leafed clover
I have to sell the house
And the experiment in Austin is over?

Live just in the moment
Is what the Sages say try.
But that no longer suffices—
Thanks, All, for trying; goodbye.

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About Kitt

Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.

Posted on June 30, 2014, in Poem. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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