Mister Ominous

Dexter has a friend…

Dear Louise,
I want you to know
It’s okay here
at the corner of Arbor & Third
where the English ivy vines
and cannas warble praises
of one stoic summer.
The seasons run
like blue veins
pockmarked by calendar time
each year bleeding into the next
broken arteries.
Sometimes I dwell in the hallway
where old photos hang
you, the kids, all gone, gone, gone.
I remember the days
autumn blowing through your hair
raven vixen
the floral beauty of your skirt
the sweet touch of the skin of fingers,
but that’s over now.
Sometimes I wonder if you are
the consort of some Italian race car driver
or if you are moonlighting with a suited
mafia man
partying casino style in Nice
the smell of money
flaring in your nostrils.
No seriously, I’m okay Louise.
I’d say that you probably didn’t rate
a sinewy hunk
instead, you most likely landed
a middle-aged dumpy man
with a mild inheritance
and busy taking care of Mother.
I noticed in your photos
that your nose is slightly crooked.
You really weren’t all that Louise;
sorry to tell you.
I think I miss the kids more
their little youthful ghosts
roaming the stairs
scraping the back porch
where the watercolor paints
have fossilized in tins.
I think I’m giving this place up,
maybe go to Korea,
get some dental implants
work on a new me.
I’ve gotten professor soft
letting time swallow me up in this backyard
scribbling my lessons
and a diary of insanity.
It’s time to leave here.
That’s really it, Louise.
Hopefully this message
born of fingers
sent to air
will find you out there, somewhere
provided you have not been silenced
your…