Saturday, September 3, 2011

The Bag

You returned my feelings
in a paper bag
along with my dirty laundry.
You kept my cds.

You are a puzzle.

If I go to you,
bang on your door
and demand their return,
will we find that we have one last dance between us,
one last barefoot blending of shadows,
as the bass thumps
and the neighbors complain?

Or, will I find you
pretending to like Taylor Swift
for someone else?

10 comments:

Evelyn said...

I like how this is more sassy than heavy, even though the subject is pure crap.
I mean what kind of man takes a woman's music. Thats just insane.

Glynn said...

Perhaps he recognized she had better taste in music. Perhaps she didn't really care about the relationship - the CDs sound more important.

Good poem, Mama Zen.

macdougalstreetbaby said...

Moral: No matter how fast the door closes, never leave your music behind.

brenda w said...

The bastage. I'd probably do the one last dance to remind him what he's missing, then never look back.

ayala said...

Excellent!!!!!!

Fred said...

Really good write. The ending was perfectly spun, which really enhances the rest. really liked it, thanks.

Lydia said...

Oh my but this does resonate with me right now. This is a marvelous poem.

Fireblossom said...

Those last two lines are perfect. Terrifying imagery! ;-)

Eric 'Bubba' Alder said...

Love how you called him out on the carpet here, Mama Z!

Poetry Pastiche said...

Ouch on the ending. :)