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today is 22 Nov 2017


CLOSE / Parnassiad


Peace and Other Stories


Fragments of a Formerly Active Sex Life



We Notice
by Gregory Wilde  /  poetry  /  7 Jan 2008

She told him,
Sitting on a porch,
"I never noticed,
The way the tiles shift,
All the jagged edges,
Shave my body when I sit,
I didn't notice it,
'Till you came."

He told him,
Sitting on a lawn,
"I never noticed,
All those ants,
Crawling on my arm,
I was never bothered,
By the way the sun hits my face,
What a migraine,
I never realized it,
'Till you came."

Boss told him,
Sitting in the boardroom,
"I never noticed this,
But my stocks have fallen,
Money's all gone,
Can't afford our bonuses,
And all those company cars,
Boy, I tell you this,
I never noticed it,
'Till you came."

She told him,
Walking down the village road,
"I never dreamed to find happiness,
All the way from the slums,
I never saw poverty like us,
Couldn't walk out the door,
But now I see everything clear,
Now that you're through and,
Out of here."

Waiter told him
Sitting at the side window,
"Never noticed that tilt,
Of the table you're in,
It moves so suddenly,
Every time you come,
Never saw its deformities,
Diseased in the legs,
In the awkward way it stands,
Wow, wonder if that's enduring,
Or I can fix it, once you're clear."

She told him,
While nestled in bed,
"Never bothered to notice my breasts,
They sag to the west,
I guess it's gravity,
Did you notice it then?
Or was it that way when
You hired me to come into this bed?"

He told him,
While lying in the graveled road,
"Devil knows where you're from,
Never thought you'd show,
I felt the blood,
Pouring from my neck,
Always thought you to be
Sympathetic when you grinned,
Now I see the chameleon,
For once you're gone,
I'm sure to get up and walk out of here."

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