Altar

Summer left me at the altar.
I still can’t stand coming home to an empty house.
But I think of you more and more often,
And I smile when the thought comes.
I don’t know what that means.

But yesterday I found the old flag we used for our “campsites.”
It’s rather ragged, and if I had any patriotism, I’d burn it.
I guess my loyalty to you has always pre-empted that.
The stripes seem to have been foremost a symbol of me and you.

And the stars...
Stars weren’t really your thing, but you’d watch them for my sake
On nights when we’d get the telescope out,
Count the craters in the moon, and then lose interest.
I almost feared the stars.
They herald the end of the day,
Time to pedal homeward and run in the backdoor shouting excuses.

Shouting excuses.
A lot of it’s been like that.
I hope Orion sees through them.

Cage

“Can I put my cancer here?” she asks,
Laying a finger across one of my floating ribs.
“Under no circumstances,” I say, backing away.
She’s a little disappointed, I see.
A little disgusted with both of us –
Herself for asking, me for saying no.
We’ll have to move on – but I’m not worried about that.
There are a great many people waiting to incubate her secrets for her.
One day they’ll hatch, taking their hosts’ hearts for nourishment,
And that’ll be the end of it.

“Can I put my cancer here?” she asks,
Laying a finger across one of my ribs,
Her eyes shining with that smile.
I really wish she’d stop.