You needed help
and because I neglected to give it

your favorite ceramic cat was never found
and the reddened sheets stayed bunched in a heap

in an oversized trash bag
near the front door.

You made the mistake of falling in love
with things and ideas

and gave none of your attention
to disconsolate matters that created

the filaments of life
or caused the vendetta in your lithe hands.

I’m enamored with the idea
that your choices are cast with inevitability

and even more so with the remnant tinge
of strawberry stain that still lingers in your hair.

I may be just one of the old men drinking coffee
in a donut shop late at night

as you tend to an array of simple needs,
observing erratic orbits of sadness

or I may be a different sort of man
staring at an unshaded framework brought low

by an involuntary lapse of moon,
watching you watching them watching you.

– Richard King Perkins II